


Am I The Only One?

by AlElizabeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Family, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-04-18 03:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 85,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4690625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wee!Chester AU. Sam and Dean are orphans. No one wants to adopt the brothers and Sam blames himself. It seems as though the boys will never have a family until one day Bobby and Karen Singer find them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dust In The Wind

John Winchester looked down at his newborn son cradled in his wife's arms and smiled.

Mary tore her gaze away from the infant and turned her attention to her husband. Instead of appearing happy, the woman was frowning, her eyebrows knitted together.

"There… there's something wrong," she murmured tiredly, "John… I… don't feel so good…"

The father stared into his wife's face for a moment, noticing how white she had gone, how her blonde hair was plastered to her brow with sweat, how glassy her eyes were and turned to speak to one of the nurses still in the room when he saw the red stain of blood spreading out from between his wife's legs beneath the blue hospital blankets.

"Mary?" John said, confused for a moment before that bewilderment changed to panic, "Mary!"

A nurse, hearing the exclamation approached and gripped the father's arm, "Sir, you have to leave… you can't be in here right now…"

"Call Dr. Simpson back! Now!"

"Get him out of here!"

"We're losing her fast!"

John stared at his wife- at the nurses surrounding his wife- and was too stunned to fight against the pressure on his arm as he was guided out of the room and into the hallway.

"Mary!" he cried as the door slammed in his face, barring him from room where his wife and son were, "MARY!"

Running footsteps caught John's attention and he saw Mary's doctor sprinting down the hallway towards him.

"Doctor-" the father began, only to be ignored as the physician opened the door to the room and stepped inside without a word.

John paced the area in front of the door, every so often looking up, willing Dr. Simpson to come out and say that everything was going to be alright, that this kind of thing happened all the time, but he didn't and the father felt dread well up in his chest, as the minutes passed.

Something was very, very wrong. But what, John didn't know. He didn't understand. This was their second child. Their first son, Dean, had been born healthy and happy, and Mary had been perfectly fine, able to go home only a few hours after giving birth. There had been no complications with either mother or child but now…

The doctor will know what to do, John told himself, he'll stop the bleeding.

W

Time dragged on slowly and eventually John collapsed into one of the brown plastic chairs against the wall beside the door, head bowed and fingers twined in his black hair.

John's thoughts turned instead from his wife and newborn child to the son that was waiting for them at home. Just before Mary had gone into labour, John had called the babysitter who was watching Dean to check up on how things were going. The sitter, a girl who lived on their street, had told John that his four-year-old son had reluctantly gone to sleep after insisting he stay awake to see his Mom and Dad come home with his new baby brother. John had told the girl that they should be home by the morning. The sitter had said that would be fine and that she couldn't wait to see the baby as well.

John released his hold on his hair and fished in his pocket for his cell phone. He stared at the device for a long moment but decided not to call the sitter. He would wait until he heard from the doctor; maybe Mary would have to stay for a bit longer then expected and if that happened he would have to decide if he wanted to go home to relieve the sitter and check up on Dean.

The door to his wife's room opened and Dr. Simpson stepped out. John noticed the man had streaks of red on his scrubs and that he was not smiling in a relieved sort of way, in fact, he wasn't smiling at all.

The father stood up instantly, "Is Mary alright?"

Dr. Simpson shook his head sadly, "I'm sorry, John, but we couldn't stop the bleeding. She's gone."

John's mouth opened in shock and his knees threatened to give out.

"No," he whispered, tears filling his eyes, "No… she can't…"

Dr. Simpson took the father's arm and guided him back to the seat he had just vacated, "We tried everything. I'm terribly sorry."

John shook his head; he just couldn't believe it. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen. Not in this day and age. Not to him… not to his wife.

"Would you like to go in and see her?" the doctor asked and John nodded, standing up, his eyes overflowing and tears streaming unchecked down his face.

Slowly, in a daze, John followed Dr. Simpson back inside the room and stared at his wife lying so still and quiet in the hospital bed. Mary's sweaty hair was fanned out around her head and her face was sickly pale but her eyes were closed and if John didn't know any better he'd think she was just sleeping, exhausted from the effort of labour.

Lurching towards the bed, John sank into the seat beside it and grabbed one of his wife's hands, noticing that it was still warm.

"M-Mary?" he choked, knowing that she wasn't going to reply, "Mary… Oh God… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"

John didn't know what he was apologizing for but it didn't matter. Mary was not going to wake up. He lowered his head until his brow pressed against his wife's hand and he sobbed, everything around him seeming to vanish but for him and he grief.

W

"Would you like to hold him?"

John held his arms out numbly to accept his baby son and he stared down at the infant so pink and wrinkled, unaware that his mother, who had only had a chance to cradle him to her breast for a few moments, would never do so again.

The newborn opened his eyes and slowly gazed up at John. One tiny hand slipped out from beneath the blue blanket he was wrapped in and the father held out one finger, a pained grimace on his face as the child gripped the digit with his small fingers.

"What are you going to name him?" the nurse asked quietly.

John stared down at his son; "Mary and I were going to name him Samuel, after her father."

SPN

John frowned as he crossed the date off on the calendar that hung on the corkboard in the kitchen with a pen. It was hard to believe that six months had passed since his youngest son had been born and his wife had died.

John missed his wife fiercely and oftentimes wished Mary was there to help him look after their two young children but the single father somehow made it work. He took fewer hours at the auto repair shop he worked at so that he would be home more for his boys, especially for Sam when Dean was in Kindergarten during the days. His four-year old was a big help, eager to look after his baby brother, feeding Sam and playing with him. John relied heavily on his sons' pediatrician for advice and assistance with his youngest, with no female relatives he could ask and only having his experience with Dean to use as a guide.

Despite the loss of his wife, John thought he was doing alright. His sons seemed happy and secure and that was the most important thing.

The father smiled when he heard Dean laughing in the living room and he peeked in to see his four-year old sitting beside the blue blanket his six-month old was lying on, Sam lying on his belly, talking to his brother in baby-speech.

"Dee, dee, dee," the younger sibling cried happily, making his brother laugh.

"Say 'Daddy'," Dean instructed and Sam giggled before repeating the word, "Da, Da, Da."

Checking his watch, John saw that it was almost time for supper.

"Want to help me feed Sammy?" John asked his eldest, knowing what the answer would be, and smiling when Dean jumped up excitedly, "Yeah!"

The father moved into the room and picked up his youngest son, chuckling when Sam burbled happily, putting his small hands on John's cheeks.

"What do you feel like tonight, Sammy?" the father asked, "Carrots and peas?"

"Ba ba!" the baby squealed happily and John watched as Dean grabbed the bottled pureed vegetables from the refrigerator so his father could warm them up.

W

John sighed and sank onto the couch cushions. Both his sons were asleep and now he had a bit of time to watch television. Dinner had gone over well, Sammy loved vegetables more than any other food it seemed, even more then the rice cereal he'd eat in the mornings but was also really starting to enjoy the sweet potato and peaches John was offering too.

While Sam dined on pureed veggies, John and Dean had eaten leftover tuna casserole the receptionist at the auto repair shop had brought over a few days ago. Despite the fact that Mary had been gone for six months now, Irma Caravaggio insisted on bringing the Winchesters a prepared meal- casserole or lasagna- at least once a week. Instead of being irritated, as John might have been, he actually felt grateful that his co-worker still thought about them even after the initial death of his wife. Many of the friends who had come over to the house in the days and weeks since Mary's passing had failed to call or pop in as they had promised during the funeral. John knew that they had their own lives but it seemed as though now that Mary had been gone for some time, they no longer felt so inclined to check up on her husband and children.

After dinner the two brother had had baths and then Dean had watched a couple of hours of child-appropriate television, sitting beside his brother as Sam lay on his blanket on the floor, before they were both tucked into bed.

John flicked through the channels, trying to find something he could watch when the baby monitor sitting on the end table crackled to life.

Turning his attention away from the television, John frowned when he heard Sam fussing, whimpering and hoped that his son wouldn't start crying.

After a moment the six-month old quieted down again and John sighed with relief. Sometimes it took as long as an hour for Sam to be comfortable and relaxed enough to sleep at night and even then there was always the chance that he'd wake up minutes later, wanting to be held and cuddled.

The father turned his attention back to the television but froze when he heard a muffled voice coming from the monitor.

John turned to look at the device, frowning. He muted the volume on the TV and listened, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

Maybe it's Dean again, John thought. His four-year old had a habit of going into his brother's room at night and talking to him when they both should have been sleeping but the father felt fear skitter across his chest like a large black spider as he listened.

The voice on the monitor, though indistinct, was definitely not one that belonged to a Kindergarten student.

"What the hell?" John said and stood, moving quickly to the stairs.

The father's heart pounded in his chest, hoping he was just hearing things, or that the baby monitor was just picking up some radio frequency- could that even happen- as he climbed the stairs. Once he reached the landing, he saw that Dean's door was shut tight and he instantly crossed the hallway to make sure his son wasn't in fact messing around in his brother's room. Pushing the door opened quietly, John could clearly make out the figure of his four-year old son beneath the Batman blanket on his bed.

Leaving the door ajar, John turned away from Dean's room and crept down the hallway towards Sam's bedroom, right beside the master bedroom.

The door was open slightly and John peered inside, adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream. The father's eyes widened in horror as he saw an adult-sized figure bending over his son's crib.

"Hey!" John flung opened the door and shouted, weaponless but feeling that paternal instinct to protect his child no matter what.

Sam started to cry at the suddenly loud shout but the figure did not move, did not even turn around.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" John demanded, hands clenched into fists, "Who are you?"

The figure turned slowly, and John startled at the sight of a man with lemon-yellow eyes.

"Now John," the stranger said in a quiet, calm voice, "You've woken the baby."

"How-" the father began but the breath was knocked out of him as he was slammed forcibly into the far wall hard enough to crack the plaster and began sliding upward, towards the ceiling.

SPN

Eric Nolan was one of the two firefighters to enter the Winchester home, searching for John and his two young sons who might still be alive in the blazing house.

Even with his helmet and over the crackle of fire, Eric could hear the sound of a baby shrieking and a child's voice crying.

Shit, the firefighter thought, please don't let us be too late.

Eric carefully climbed the stairs, motioning his team member to follow, and saw orange flames billowing out of a doorway at the far end of the hallway; the same doorway through with the terrified crying was coming from.

Eric's heart hammered in his chest, sweat dripping down his face as he thought about the two children and their father trapped in the flaming room.

Gesturing his partner to follow, the firefighter burst through the open doorway and into the nursery. Eric staggered to a stop, mouth gaping open. Flames consumed almost every inch of the room, tongues of fire were raining down from the ceiling, leaving only a few inches around a baby's crib untouched but it was clear that in minutes it too would be consumed as well as the two children with it.

"Where's the father?" Eric heard his partner ask but he ignored the question, there wasn't time to talk.

Darting across the room, the firefighter scooped up the four-year old who had been curled against the side of the crib and peered inside at the infant.

"We're gonna need an ambulance!" Eric shouted and motioned his team member over.

The other firefighter quickly picked up the younger child, swearing in sympathy as he did so and the two of them hurried from the room and out of the house as fast as possible.


	2. Long Forgotten Sons

Dean woke up before his brother. Instead of disturbing his sibling's sleep, the twelve-year old sat up on his elbows and watched Sam for a long moment, a smile on his lips.

The eight-year old's breathing was slow and shallow, calm, his eyes closed lightly and his brow sooth, telling Dean that he was dreaming peacefully.

A bell chimed out in the hallway, announcing that breakfast was ready and anyone who wanted to eat should get out of bed and head down to the kitchen before all the good items were gone.

Sam frowned in his sleep but didn't wake. Dean smiled. Now he could rouse his brother his own way. Reaching out, the twelve-year old poked his sibling's nose with the tip of his index finger.

Sam's eyes scrunched up and his brow furrowed but he didn't wake. Dean repeated the gesture, holding back a chuckle as Sam groaned and rolled over onto his back.

Grinning widely, Dean sat up and pounced on his brother, howling like a banshee.

"WAKEY-WAKEY EGGS N' BAKEY!"

Sam's eyes snapped up and he cried out in fear, only to realize it was only Dean and he began to giggle furiously.

"I'll give you something to laugh about!" Dean threatened and reached down to begin tickling his brother's ribs, sending Sam into fits of laughter.

"D-De-" Sam gasped, trying to catch his breath enough to speak, "St-Stop! Stop!"

Dean obliged his sibling and fell over, landing on his back beside Sam, breathing just as heavily as his brother.

"Breakfast's just started," Dean told Sam.

The eight-year old sat up and crawled over his sibling to get to the other side of the bed. The two beds had originally been on opposite sides of the room but Dean had pushed them together years ago so that he and Sam could sleep side-by-side and Ms. Norris hadn't told them to move the beds back so that was the way they remained, the younger brother always sleeping on the bed that had been pushed up right against the wall with Dean on the outside bed.

Sam went to the dresser and pulled open the bottom drawer, grabbing clean clothes. Dean closed his eyes for a moment, relaxing against the mattress as he listened to the quiet sounds of his brother changing out of his pajamas and into a pair of brown corduroy pants and a green, long-sleeved shirt.

Opening his eyes again when he felt the mattress dip down with his sibling's slight weight, Dean took his turn at changing into a pair of blue jeans and a black t-shirt.

"C'mon Short Stuff," Dean said and Sam followed him out of their room and into the hallway.

The twelve-year old saw that many of the doors to the other bedrooms were open and he began walking faster.

"If all the Frosted Flakes are gone…" he muttered mutinously, making his brother chuckle.

At the end of the hallway was a long, narrow staircase. The brothers headed down the stairs, Dean going first. Along the walls were pictures that the children living in the house had drawn, neatly framed, with their names and ages. Dean looked up at one his own little brother had drawn when he was about three or four and smiled. It showed him and Sam in a child's messy scrawl: Dean, only a round body drawn with orange crayon and stick arms and legs and huge dark brown eyes standing beside Sam, also represented as a circular, blue body with large green eyes, dwarfed in comparison to his big brother. A yellow circle of sun shone down on the Winchester brothers from one corner of the paper.

The brothers reached the main floor. One of the rooms on this floor was lovingly referred to as the 'Recreation Room' or, as the kids called it, 'Wreck Room'. It had a large room with a couple of couches, chairs, shelves of books for all ages, board games, a television set, toys of all sorts and even a Foosball table. It was one of the two largest rooms on the first floor, the second being the kitchen and dining area. The remainder of the rooms had become private offices that the children were not allowed to go into, except for Ms. Norris' office; she let kids come and visit her any time of the day and she always had candy for those who did.

Dean shoved open the double doors to the dining area and he and Sam were buffeted with a wave of sound; kids laughing, talking, and shouting. The twelve-year old made a beeline for the long, low counter cluttered with food items: there was muffins and fruit, yogurt, bread for toasting and miniature boxes of cereal that allowed for milk to be poured right into them. There were also jugs of milk, orange and apple juice and bottles of water.

Dean grabbed a small box of Frosted Flakes- the last one- and held it up triumphantly.

"Gotcha!" he cried, grinning as he glanced over his shoulder at a boy about his own age who was scowling, clearly also hoping for the sugarcoated cereal.

"Sorry, Aiden, you snooze you lose," Dean told the other boy who grudgingly picked up a banana instead.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean called to his brother who was standing in front of the bread, having trouble deciding what he wanted on it, "Make up your mind already. I'm starving."

Sam peered over his shoulder at his brother, grabbed a plate and slid two pieces of bread onto it to bring over to the toaster and snatched a couple of packets of grape jelly as well.

Dean followed his brother over to the toaster and waited impatiently, eager to eat breakfast. He reached over and grabbed a knife for his sibling so Sam could bring his toast to the table and then put the jelly on it

The brothers made their way over to an empty table and sat down, Dean tearing open his box of cereal and beginning to eat with gusto.

"Don't you want milk?" Sam asked quietly, concentrating on smearing the dark purple spread onto his toast.

Dean made a face, "No way, milk washes all the sugar off."

Sam just shrugged and continued what he was doing. Dean watched his sibling for a moment, chewing the crunchy cereal loudly. His little brother's shoulders were hunched and his hair was in his face, allowing only one green eye to peek through.

Dean's gaze traveled downward to his brother's hands as he watched Sam carefully hold the piece of toast in one and the knife in the other.

The twelve-year old jumped when someone sat down heavily at their table and he saw Sam flinch away from the person. Looking up, Dean saw it was Quentin and sighed. The boy was a year older then Dean and took great pleasure in poking fun at the fact that the Winchesters had yet to find a permanent home, never mind that Quentin himself had been sent from foster home to foster home for the past six years.

"Can't say I'm surprised to see you two still here," Quentin said, "What happened to the last place Ms. Norris put you in?"

"Go away, Quentin," Dean muttered, not looking at the older boy but at Sam.

"I know," the thirteen-year old announced nastily, "They couldn't stand looking at your fugly face!"

The comment was directed at Sam and although it was nothing new- Quentin really needed some fresh material if he was going to keep harassing the Winchesters- Dean's hackles raised all the same.

Standing suddenly, Dean rounded on the older boy, fuming.

"And what about you?" he snarled, "Did you drown their pet cat in the bathtub again? Oh, wait, I know, they sent you back here 'cause you're dumb as a pile of rocks!"

It was a low blow and Dean knew it but he would not sit by and let Sam be made fun of.

"Why you!" Quentin growled and grabbed the front of Dean's shirt, pulling his fist back to hit the twelve-year old.

"Dean!"

The older brother heard his sibling cry out and saw Sam reach forward towards him and Quentin. The reaction in the thirteen-year old was instantaneous, Quentin let go of Dean's shirt, shoving him away and cringed away from Sam as though he was the bearer of some contagious illness.

Quentin slunk away through the tables, lucky that he hadn't been noticed by any of the adults supervising breakfast.

"Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked, eyes wide.

"Yeah, Sammy," he smiled at his sibling, "Are you?"

The eight-year old nodded, his chestnut hair flopping over his face.

"Let's get out of here," Dean muttered and sat his cereal box on top of his brother's plate, carrying them to the garbage can, dumping the cardboard box into the trash and setting the plate and knife atop the can.

Taking his brother's hand, Dean led Sam out of the dining area, through the Wreck Room and into the spacious backyard. The brothers walked a few feet before Sam flopped down in the long grass, squinting up at the blue sky. Summer vacation had just started so the brothers had two full months to relax and goof around before school started up again.

Dean sat down beside his sibling, irritably pulling out large handfuls of grass as he thought about Quentin.

"It's not your fault," Dean said quietly, "You know that, right?"

Sam said nothing so his brother peered down at him. Sam was staring up at the sky, his green eyes wet.

"It's never your fault," Dean told him sternly, "Those people… they're just assholes."

The eight-year old didn't even react to his brother's swearing.

"All of them?" he whispered.

Dean sighed and lay down on his back beside his brother. It was a vicious cycle, it seemed; a family looking to foster some children would bring the brothers into their home for a while, sometimes as long as a month, but more often then not only for a few weeks- Dean was sure they had the record for being in a foster home for the length of a weekend- before they were taken back to the orphanage and Ms. Norris was told that 'it wasn't working out'.

"We'll find someone," Dean assured him, "Someday. We just have to be patient."

Sam sat up, leaning over his brother; Dean stared up at him.

"I don't think so," he said, "Out of all the foster homes we've been in… or couples looking for kids to adopt who come here… they always pass us by. Why? Because of me!"

"Sam-" Dean began but his brother shook his head.

"It's me, Dean," he insisted, tears welling up in his green eyes, "It's my face."

Sam roughly brushed his hair back and stared down at his sibling. Dean didn't even blink, and why would he? He had grown up with Sam, he was used to his little brother's face and really, it never even bothered him in the first place. It was just his brother; it was what Sam looked like.

The left side of his sibling's face was marred by scar tissue, pink and puckered, slightly shiny, it trailed from his temple all the way down one side of his neck. Sam's hands had also been scarred but it was those on his face that seemed to bother people the most, which was why he kept his hair long, so he could hide behind it. There were also smaller patches of scar tissue on Sam's chest and back but they were not as bad as the one on his face.

The doctors had done what they could but since the brothers were wards of the state and they didn't have a lot of money, expensive surgery was out of the question.

Dean had seen pictures of his baby brother when they had first come to the orphanage and to tell the truth, Sam looked a hell of a lot better now then he had following the fire that had killed their father.

"I think they're scared of me," Sam whispered and lay back down with a sad sigh, "I've seen them, they either stare or won't look me in the eye."

Dean blew a raspberry, "They're assholes, Sammy, like I said. Besides, I'm not scared of you. Neither is Ms. Norris."

Sam was quiet for a long moment, "Maybe Ms. Norris could adopt us?"

Dean snorted, knowing his brother was joking. Sure, Ms. Norris was nice and Dean liked her, he was certain she would adopt every kid who came through her door and so she seemed to have made the decision not to adopt any.

"Forget about them," Dean told his brother, "And forget about the other kids. Someday someone really special is going to walk through those doors and adopt us, you'll see. I promise you."

Sam sat up on his elbows, gazing at his brother, "You really think so?"

Dean smiled confidently, "I know so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Rise Against song.
> 
> Sorry to all the readers who don't like 'permanent' injuries in either of the Winchesters. I wanted a reason for Sam and Dean not being adopted, especially when they first arrived at the orphanage because Sam was a baby at that time and infants are often find families quicker than older children do.


	3. The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

Karen reached out and placed one of her hands over her husband's as it gripped the old truck's steering wheel.

Bobby took his eyes away from the road for a moment and smiled at his wife.

"It's going to be okay," Karen assured her husband and Bobby nodded ever so slightly, turning his attention back to the highway.

Karen could hardly believe they were going to Kansas. She felt excitement bubbling up inside her. They were finally going to do it; they were going to adopt a child.

The journey that had led them to this had been a long and arduous one. Karen and Bobby had been high-school sweethearts and almost as soon as they were married, Karen wanted children. Her husband though, was less receptive to the idea. He wanted to wait until they had settled down a bit and Karen had obliged, taking a job as a waitress at a local restaurant while Bobby worked at the salvage yard he'd inherited from his father.

Years passed and Karen had tried off and on to conceive, despite Bobby's misgivings. It seemed as though that her husband's negative feelings about kids was having an affect on Karen as no matter how hard she tried, she could not get pregnant.

An anxious trip to the doctor's revealed the cause, Karen was infertile; she simply could not have children. Bobby was understanding, comforting his wife when she arrived back home in tears, feeling as though she was a failure, defective.

Karen resigned herself to the fact that she and Bobby would never have children, something she was certain secretly pleased her husband though he would never admit to, until she received a call from an old friend who had moved to California.

She told Karen of how she had adopted a little girl from an orphanage in San Francisco and said that if Karen was really serious about having a child, she should consider adoption.

As soon as Karen heard that she researched all the nearby orphanages, keeping it hidden from Bobby until just the right moment.

Bobby seemed surprised that Karen was considering adoption as an option but he still was reluctant.

"A junkyard is no place to raise a kid."

"We're not getting any younger, you and I, do we really want a kiddie running around?"

"Do you know how long it actually takes to adopt?"

But Karen was ready for her husband's excuses:

The junkyard was no more dangerous as any other home as long as they kept an eye on the child.

Bobby made it seem as though they were senior citizens. People were choosing to have children later in life so why couldn't they adopt later in life too?

Despite the fact that adoption could take months or even years to finalize, the result was worth it.

Karen wasn't a stupid woman. She knew that Bobby hadn't wanted children of his own because he was afraid of turning into his father. If they adopted, however, her husband would have to worry about that. Besides, Bobby didn't drink very often anyway; perhaps concerned he'd end up liking it a little too much.

"You enjoy helping people, right?" Karen had asked her husband, wheedling.

"Yeah," Bobby had answered warily.

"Then what better way to help a child in need of a family then to adopt?" Karen had asked, remembering to give her husband a doe-eyed look, just for good measure.

"Fine," Bobby had relented, "We'll go to whatever orphanage you want and we'll look, okay? I'm not making any promises."

Karen had just smiled knowingly.

After a short discussion the Singers had decided that they wanted to adopt a little girl. Bobby had been all for that idea and Karen had only had her mother when she had been growing up so having another woman in the house would be nice again.

"How do I let you con me into these things?" Bobby asked her now as they passed the sign welcoming them to Wichita, Kansas.

The Brighter Days House was a state-run orphanage in Wichita that had once been a Victorian mansion. Karen didn't know if it was the allure of the old manse or the promising name of the orphanage but she was drawn to it as soon as she had pulled up the website on the computer. The orphanage was grey- not a very happy colour- with a black roof with white gables and large windows with blue curtains. It's interior was more homey and friendly-looking then the outside. There was a large game room, kitchen and small, quaint bedrooms. The backyard had a big sandbox, a jungle gym, and a swing set for the children. The director of the orphanage, a Ms. Janet Norris, looked like a very nice woman with an easy smile and relaxed posture; not like the strict, old matron Karen had imagined as running The Better Days House.

Karen had spoken briefly to Ms. Norris on the phone, to set up an appointment and give the woman a little bit of information about herself and her husband- the rest could be discussed today- and the woman had been very kind, assuring Karen her that there were many girls at the orphanage looking for a permanent home.

"There it is!" Karen cried out excitedly, reaching out to grip Bobby's arm as she saw the top of the orphanage's roof over the crest of the hill they had yet to climb.

SPN

Two days before the Singers started their seven and a half hour drive to the Better Days House, Dean managed to get himself grounded. It hadn't even been his fault. Quentin and a couple of his friends had started it.

Sam and his brother had been playing checkers quietly in the Wreck Room- it was raining so everyone had to stay indoors- when Dean had felt the call of nature and had gone to the bathroom relieve himself.

Quentin and two of his closer friends- Jerry and Ivan- had taken advantage of Dean's absence and pounced on Sam.

The checkerboard went flying, clattering to the floor, the red and black pieces skittering and rolling away, as Sam was shoved onto his back by the two bigger boys, Quentin wielding a pair of scissors from the 'Art's and Craft's Table'. The scissors, designed for children and dull enough so that they wouldn't cut skin or clothes, cut hair however as readily as they would paper.

Quentin loomed over Sam, scissors in hand and a malicious gleam in his eye.

"I think it's time you had a haircut, Freak," he taunted, "So that everyone can see your face."

Sam struggled helplessly as Quentin grabbed a handful of Sam's hair in his fist and brought the open scissors towards it.

Dean, who had just entered the Wreck Room, saw everything and ran forwards, jumping on Quentin's back and wrapped his arms around the older boy's throat.

Quentin reared back, stumbling, the scissors falling harmlessly to the floor. Jerry and Ivan released Sam, calling out for an adult.

"Dean!" Sam cried out as Ms. Norris herself came running, her eyes wide at the sight before her.

"Dean Winchester!"

Everyone seemed to freeze at the sound of that voice. Normally Ms. Norris was a very sweet, kind lady but she hated any kind of violence and was not afraid to raise her voice when she needed to.

"Boys," she said sternly, taking in Dean, Quentin, Jerry and Ivan, "In my office. Now."

Sam stood up, still shaken from the attack and began to follow but was stopped by Ms. Norris' hand on his shoulder, "Not you, Sam."

He looked up at the woman, "It wasn't Dean's fault."

Ms. Norris' mouth was pursed into a thin, pale line- like a scar cut across her face- and she nodded stiffly, "He'll have a chance to tell his side of the story."

W

Sam waited impatiently outside of Ms. Norris' office for his brother to appear. It seemed as though Dean was in there forever. Quentin and his friends had left the office ages ago and now only Dean remained.

Sam jumped when the door swung open and Dean slouched out.

"Dean!" Sam cried and wrapped his arms around his brother's middle, hugging him tightly.

"Did you get into trouble?" Sam asked anxiously and Dean nodded.

"I'm grounded for a week," the twelve-year old said glumly.

"Why? It was Quentin and-" Dean interrupted his sibling, "Ms. Norris only saw me. Don't worry, Short Stuff, those guys didn't get away empty-handed. They've lost their Wreck Room privileges for three days."

Sam frowned, his brow furrowed, "Maybe if I tell Ms. Norris what-"

Dean shook his head, "I told her, Sammy. But it didn't help. She saw me trying to strangle Quentin and that was it."

Sam looked down, "What am I going to do?"

Dean crouched down and put a hand on his brother's shoulder, "Hey, just because I'm grounded doesn't me we still can't hang out."

Sam nodded and smiled a little.

"I better get upstairs," Dean muttered, "Ms. Norris said my sentence starts immediately."

Sam followed his brother upstairs to where the bedrooms were and sat down beside him on the edge of Dean's bed. Dean had been grounded before but never for a week, the most time he had served before was two days, now he seemed to be going for a record with seven days.

Dean wouldn't be allowed out of the bedroom except to use the bathroom and to get something to eat- oh, and for one hour a day outside- but with Sammy, it wouldn't be so bad.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam said, "For saving me."

His brother smiled, "Hey, that's what I do. I'm here to protect you."

"That was kind of cool how you jumped on Quentin," Sam said with a wry smile, "The look on his face!"

Sam couldn't help but giggle. Of course Dean hadn't actually been trying to choke the older boy, he'd only wanted Quentin to get away from Sam.

"Maybe he'll think next before he decides to pick on you again," Dean muttered hopefully.

W

Sam stared at the colourful pages of the superman comic book he was holding, not really reading it. He was in the Wreck Room, sitting on one of the cushy chairs in the 'Library' area, bored because Dean still had five days of being grounded.

Sam looked up when he saw someone approach him from the periphery of his vision. It was one of the new kids, a little boy of about three or four, Sam thought his name was Colin or Connor or something like that.

The younger child had his thumb in his mouth and he was staring at Sam, wide-eyed.

The eight-year old put the comic aside and smiled. He didn't really mind the little kids so much, they would ask him about his scars but he'd just say that he'd been hurt when he was a baby and that seemed to satisfy them, they just wanted to know why and once they had the answer that was the end of it.

Sam watched as Colin (or Connor) held one hand out and tapped him on the knee, turning quickly on his heels after doing so, nearly falling over at the same time, and ran across the room. Frowning, Sam looked up to where the little kid was running and saw Quentin standing in the doorway of the Wreck Room, encouraging the Kindergartener over. Since Quentin still had one more day of being banned from the Wreck Room, he'd apparently found a loophole that allowed him to continue tormenting Sam without actually setting foot in the Recreation Room.

Sam sighed and slipped off the chair, crossing the room slowly, leaving through the far door, the one closer to the staircase and hoped Quentin wouldn't follow.

He was lucky and the older boy didn't continue to harass him as he made his way upstairs. He shoved open the door and flopped down on the bed beside his brother. Dean looked up but said nothing.

"Why'd you have to go get grounded?" Sam grumbled.

"Didn't do it on purpose, Sammy," Dean replied, stretching and sat up against the bed's headboard, "Have only two days really passed? I feel like I'm going to go crazy in here."

Sam sighed and his gaze swept across the stack of comic books- mostly featuring Batman- that stood by the bed.

"Maybe Ms. Norris will let you out early," Sam suggested hopefully, "You know, for good behaviour?"

Dean chuckled and ruffled his brother's hair, "Yeah, maybe."

"Quentin's getting the little kids in on it now," Sam muttered and Dean frowned.

"What?"

Sam nodded, "One came up to me, touched my knee and ran away like Quentin had dared him to do it."

"You should tell Ms. Norris," Dean advised seriously.

Sam sighed. He knew he should tell Ms. Norris or one of the other adults but he didn't want to be labeled a Tattletale as well as a Freak.

"I'm serious, Sammy," Dean insisted, as though he knew exactly what his brother was thinking, "If it gets worse, tell her."

Sam nodded and promised he would. Dean smiled and gave him a tight hug, telling him he should go back downstairs before anyone came looking for him.

"I'll see you at lunch," Dean assured his brother and Sam nodded, slipping out the door and heading back down to the Wreck Room again.

SPN

"It's even bigger than in the pictures," Karen said as she stared at the Victorian mansion while Bobby parked the car in the lot marked 'Visitors'.

"Looks like something the Addam's family would live in," her husband commented, "And we are not adopting Wednesday."

Karen chuckled and unbuckled her seatbelt, opening the car door even before the vehicle had stopped. The weather was bright and sunny, a beautiful warm July day. Karen smiled as she heard the sounds of children's laughter wafting towards them on the wind from the backyard.

She reached out and took Bobby's hand squeezing tightly, anxious and excited at the same time.

"Thank you," she whispered to her husband and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Bobby smiled, but spoke gruffly, "Don't go thanking me just yet, woman."

The Singers walked up the front porch of the house and Bobby pulled the door open for his wife. At the far end of the entrance hall was a large cherry wood desk with a young woman sitting behind it. She looked up as the husband and wife stepped inside.

"Good morning," she greeted, "Do you have an appointment or are you here to pick up?"

"We've got an appointment," Bobby told her as he and Karen approached the desk, "With a Ms. Norris?"

The receptionist looked down at her computer screen, typing for a moment before returning her gaze to them and smiling, "Singer?"

They nodded.

"Ms. Norris will be with you shortly," she told them, "Would you like to have a seat?"

Karen and Bobby sank into the chairs against a wall covered with old-fashioned flowered wallpaper, peering curiously around the entranceway. The original hardwood floor remained, with a long grey speckled rug running from the doorway all the way to the receptionist's desk. The walls were painted a light, cheerful blue with pictures of smiling boys and girls who had found permanent homes hanging on both sides of the hall.

Karen sat quietly for a moment, hands twisted in her lap, anxious, when the sound of children coming from a nearby room caught her attention. The woman leaned forward, trying to catch sight of the youth but she couldn't. Standing, Karen began to follow the sound, drawn towards it.

"Karen," Bobby hissed but she ignored her husband, "Karen!"

She stepped into a large room with two worn, comfortable-looking couches, a half-dozen mismatched chairs, an old television set and a Foosball table. There were shelves against the walls containing board games and toys. Karen swept her eyes across the room and spied a low, rectangular table where five girls who looked to be around six-years old were sitting, chatting as they drew on scrap paper with Crayons.

Karen smiled and made to move forward, to join the seated girls when she caught sight of another child from the corner of her eye. He looked to be about seven or eight-years old, with long brown hair that was almost dark enough to be black. He was sitting at the foot of one of the chairs, a superman action figure in his hands.

Instead of moving towards the little girls, even though she had always wanted a daughter, Karen found herself drawn towards that solitary boy.

Karen crouched down beside the child and smiled. The boy looked up and Karen's eyes widened ever so slightly. He had the greenest eyes she had ever seen.

"Is Superman your favourite hero?" Karen asked and the child nodded, "Uh huh."

"I'm Karen," the woman said and the boy didn't answer but that was alright.

"Why is he your favourite?" Karen asked and the boy bit his lip for a second before speaking again, "He's super strong and he can fly and he's an alien the planet Krypton."

The woman looked pensive, "That is pretty cool, isn't it?"

The boy nodded and smiled.

"Karen!" the woman sighed and peered over her shoulder, "Karen!"

"I have to go," Karen said, "It was nice to meet you."

The woman stood and left the room, following her husband's voice. Karen smiled when she saw Bobby and the woman standing beside him, no doubt Ms. Janet Norris.

"Hello," Ms. Norris said, "I'm Janet Norris."

"Karen Singer," Karen greeted and shook hands with Ms. Norris.

"Let's go to my office where we can speak more privately."

The Singers followed the woman to her office and sat down in the two chairs seated across from her desk. Karen noticed that there was a plastic bin with toys in one corner of the office and there were children's drawings on the walls. Janet took a seat, placing a bundle of manila folders onto her desk. She had long red hair and blue eyes, a round, pleasant face and a mouth that was used to smiling.

"Karen," Ms. Norris began, "Your husband was saying that you were interested in adopting a little girl? We don't have any infants right now but-"

"What about that little boy with green eyes?" Karen interrupted, causing Janet to frown.

The other woman frowned, clearly trying to think of whom Karen was speaking about.

"He has long brown hair?" Karen offered and Janet's eyes grew round.

"Oh! That must have been Sammy!" Ms. Norris exclaimed.

Karen nodded and smiled, "I'd like to know more about him."

Janet didn't return the gesture, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Mrs. Singer insisted, "He was adorable… A sweet little boy."

"Karen," Bobby drew his wife's attention and leaned towards her, "I thought you wanted to see about adopting a girl."

Karen looked at her husband and Bobby swore under his breath, "Balls."

Karen smiled. The expression on her face was the same one she gave Bobby when she wanted something and would not rest until she got it.

"What can you tell me about him?" Karen asked Janet and watched as the woman stood and took a new folder from the grey filing cabinet behind her desk.

"Sam Winchester has been here since he was six months old," Janet explained, "Sam eight now and his older brother, Dean, is twelve."

Karen nodded leaning forward. She noticed the way Ms. Norris was speaking, as though she wasn't sure if she was being genuine or not.

Janet opened the boys' folder and pulled out a couple of school photographs, taken just the past year. Dean sat grinning confidently. Karen saw he had short, sandy-brown hair, hazel eyes and a spattering of freckles across his upper cheeks and nose. Sam's chestnut hair was flopped down in front of his face, covering it like a curtain so that just one green eye peeked though, unlike his brother, he wasn't smiling.

"They're orphans," Janet continued, "Their mother died shortly after giving birth to Sam and their father was killed in a house fire six months later."

Karen glanced down at the pictures of the boys.

"That's awful," she muttered. Bobby reached out and put a hand on her arm.

"Why weren't they adopted?" she asked, "If Sam was still a baby? Was it because Dean was already older?"

Janet shook her head, "I wish that was the case. Sam was injured in the fire that killed his father, he suffered burns on his face, neck, hands, back and chest."

Karen peered down at another photograph Ms. Norris pulled out of the folder: Sam was younger in this one, maybe about five or six. His hair wasn't as long as it was now and most of his face was not concealed from view. Karen gasped at the shiny, red scars that marred one side of the child's face and neck.

Karen felt Bobby's hand tighten on her arm but she didn't look at him, she couldn't take her eyes away from that little boy's face.

"My predecessor, Mrs. Fairbanks, had a family interested in adopting Dean while little Sammy was still in the hospital. He might have been able to go home with a loving family but when Dean realized Sammy wasn't coming too, he started screaming and crying as though someone was ripping his soul out," Janet said sadly, "The family decided to leave Dean and 'think about it'. They ended up adopting another little boy instead."

"So Sam and Dean have been here all that time?" Karen asked.

Janet smiled wanly, "They've been in and out of foster homes but they always come back."

Karen glanced down at the pictures of the two Winchester boys for a long time. She knew Bobby didn't want a little boy, much less two of them, but after hearing about everything they had been through, from their mother and father's death, to Sam's injuries suffered in the fire and being shuffled to and from foster care for the past eight years, Karen could care less what her husband wanted.

"Bobby," Karen looked up into her husband's grey eyes, "We have to adopt them."

She turned to Janet, "We have to."

Ms. Norris' eyes widened, "Really?"

Karen nodded, "Yes."

She stood, "I can't wait to tell them!"

"Wait!" Janet exclaimed and Karen froze, staring that the other woman, "Why don't you wait until everything is settled? It could take a while for the paperwork to go through."

"Alright," Bobby's wife said and sat down again.

"Karen," her husband said quietly, "Are you sure you want to do this? Adopting two boys?"

Karen looked at him, "I know this wasn't what we had planned but-"

Bobby reached out and put his hand on hers, "We'll talk about this later, alright?"

"I can get the paperwork started," Janet said and smiled at the Singers.

Bobby and Karen stood, shook hands with Ms. Norris and walked out of the office.

Karen went ahead of her husband and peered into the room where she had first seen Sam Winchester, unfortunately, the little boy was gone. Karen frowned, a bit sad, but knew that she would see him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Roberta Flack song.


	4. Dream Brother

"Dean! Dean, you'll never believe what just happened!"

Sam called out to his brother as he tore up the staircase, throwing up the bedroom door and jumping onto the bed where Dean was lounging.

"What Sammy?" Dean asked, sitting up and staring at his brother's excited expression.

"There was this lady and she was really nice and she talked to me and she looked at me and didn't even-" Sam began only to be interrupted by his brother.

"She probably just didn't see your scars, Sam."

The eight-year old's eyes widened and he stared at his brother in shock.

"Dean… you said… you said a special family was going to come and take us home," Sam argued, his green eyes wet and wide.

"I know what I said, Sammy," Dean muttered, "But you have to be realistic."

Sam sat up and stared at his brother, stunned.

"Maybe she's different from the others," he argued, feeling his eyes welling up with tears.

Dean's expression, instead of turning sympathetic, became angry, "Why don't you grow up? No one's going to adopt us! We're going to stay here for the rest of our lives!"

Sam's tears overflowed and spilled down his cheeks. He slid off the bed and backed away from his brother. Why was Dean being so mean? Hadn't he said that one day some special family was going to adopt them? Why was he saying these things now?

"Sam!" Dean called, making as though to get off the bed and follow him, "Come back!"

Sam turned and ran from the room, crying.

SPN

"Are you sure you want to do this, Karen?" Bobby asked as they drove away from the Better Days House.

The woman nodded, "Yes, I want to adopt those two boys."

Bobby pursed his lips, "Do you think that's a good idea?"

Karen stared at her husband for a long moment.

"Why would it be a bad idea?"

"Well, they're not exactly babies," Bobby said, "Eight and twelve and you haven't even met the older one."

Karen frowned at her husband, "Older children have a harder time getting adopted, Bobby, and they need love just as much as a baby does."

Bobby sighed deeply, "You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

Karen shook her head, "Nope."

"Honey," she said and reached out to put her hand on Bobby's wrist, "If ever you've trusted me with anything, trust me with this."

Her husband nodded, "Alright. Alright. We can see how this goes."

Karen smiled, "I know everything will work out for the best."

SPN

The screen door slapped shut behind Sam as he ran out into the backyard, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

There were a few of the younger kids playing in the yard, climbing on the jungle gym but Sam ignored them. Instead, he made his way to the large maple tree at the edge of the yard and began climbing up its rough trunk, swinging himself up to the first, thick branch and sat with his legs dangling along either side.

Sam reached down and gripped the branch with both hands, breathing heavily and trying to calm himself. It was a warm day with a slight breeze that tousled the tree's green leaves, the sound soothing.

Sam closed his eyes and leaned back, resting against the maple's sturdy trunk. Dean could say what he liked. He hadn't seen the woman, hadn't spoken to her. Sam knew she was different from the others and maybe… just maybe she would come back and take both of them away and they'd finally have a real family.

W

When the bell rang to announce the beginning of lunch, Sam jumped down from his perch and walked slowly back inside, watching the little kids race squealing towards the doors.

He wasn't really hungry but he knew if Dean was with him he would insist Sam eat something.

Stepping into the dining room, Sam saw that macaroni and cheese was on the menu today, along with an ordinary green salad- barely touched- and garlic bread.

The scent of the warm meal made the eight-year old's stomach growl in anticipation and Sam stepped into line behind a little kid who was hopping up and down impatiently.

Glancing around the hall, Sam spied his brother sitting at their usual table, his plate piled high with macaroni and two large pieces of garlic toast. Sam smirked; Dean wouldn't eat vegetables if they were the only food left on the planet.

"Hey!" an angry voice interrupted, "Hurry up, kid."

Shaking his head, Sam moved forward quickly; while he'd been looking for Dean, the line had moved on without him. Sam was a little surprised no one had cut in front of him but he guessed there were too many adults around to do that.

Grabbing a plate, Sam took some salad and macaroni, ignoring the bread, before heading towards the table where Dean sat.

"Hey," the twelve-year old said quietly, looking up with a sheepish expression.

"Hi," Sam replied and sat down across from him before beginning to eat.

"Sammy," Dean said but Sam didn't look up, he kept his gaze focused on his lunch.

"I'm sorry about earlier," his brother apologized, "I didn't mean it, really."

Sam nodded but continued eating.

"It's just… I don't want you to be disappointed," Dean said, "I don't want you to get your hopes up and then you find out this lady decides to adopt some other kid."

"Okay, Dean," Sam muttered through a mouthful of salad, "You're right."

The twelve-year old grew quiet and the brothers ate in silence for a few moments before a female voice called out the elder sibling's name.

Sam looked up to see Ms. Norris approaching their table.

"Uh... hi Ms. Norris," Dean greeted uncertainly.

The woman said 'hello' and sat down beside Sam.

"Dean," she said, "I may have gone a little overboard the other day, grounding you for a week-"

The woman paused as a smile began to spread across Dean's face.

"I want to make myself very clear though," she said sternly and Dean's smile faltered a little, "I will not have you hurting any of the other children here for whatever reason."

The twelve-year old lowered his gaze, "Yes, Ma'am."

"After lunch you're free," Ms. Norris told him, smiling again, "Just don't let me catch you doing something like that again."

Dean nodded eagerly, "I won't!"

Ms. Norris turned to look at Sam, "Next time any of the other students are picking on you, come tell me."

Now it was Sam's turn to look down. He nodded and told her that he would.

"Good," Ms. Norris said with finality and stood, "Enjoy the rest of your lunch."

Dean stared after the woman as she walked away, his mouth half-open to display semi-chewed macaroni and cheese. Sam giggled at his brother's expression before shoveling a mouthful of lettuce into his mouth.

The twelve-year old scowled at him, "How can you eat that junk? It's practically rabbit food."

The eight-year old shrugged, "I like it and it's good for me. Maybe if you ate more salad you'd get taller."

Dean eyed his sibling, "Oh, and you're the Jolly Green Giant are you? You're shorter than I am, Shrimp!"

Sam slowly ate another mouthful of salad, making exaggerated sounds of pleasure, "One day I'm gonna be tall! You'll see! I will 'cause I eat all the vegetables and you'll be teeny tiny short!"

Dean snorted and speared some macaroni and cheese onto his fork, "Yeah, like that'll ever happen."

SPN

Karen couldn't wait to start preparing for the Winchester boys' arrival. Twenty minutes after returning home Bobby found his wife staring intently at the guest bedroom at the top of the stairs. The room was mostly disused except for when Karen's mother came to visit during Thanksgiving and Christmas, something that was happening less and less as the elderly lady was becoming more frail.

"Karen?" Bobby asked, "What're you doing?"

"They'll need a room of their own when they get here," Karen replied distractedly.

Bobby grimaced, "Hon, we don't even know if we'll be able to adopt them."

The mechanic realized he'd just spoken the wrong words. Karen turned to him, her blue eyes hard.

"If you don't want to adopt then say it! Don't beat around the bush!"

Bobby's mouth opened in shock, "I don't have a problem adopting… those boys but don't you think you're getting ahead of yourself?"

Karen frowned and crossed her arms over her chest.

"I want those two boys to feel welcome as soon as they arrive," she told her husband, "They should have their own room, not feel like they're being stuffed into some dusty old guest bedroom because we couldn't be bothered to change it around."

"What about your mother?" Bobby asked.

His wife sighed, "Mom's getting too old to make the trip out here every year. Even if she does come for the holidays this year I think it'll be the last time."

Bobby nodded, his eyes unexpectedly prickling at tears. Karen's mother was a wonderful lady; she loved Bobby like he was her own son and never made him feel as though he wasn't good enough for her daughter, something he'd been fearful of when he'd started dating Karen back when he'd first met her at the same diner she still worked at just out of high school.

Although Sioux Falls wasn't as large as most cities, it was bigger than the tiny Oregon hamlet Karen had come from. Eager to see the larger world, the eighteen-year old had left her mother's house and taken a bus all the way out to Sioux Falls. She hadn't really intended on staying in Sioux Falls, wanting to go further east to New York or Boston but she needed money and so Karen had gotten a job as a waitress at a local diner. Bobby Singer, longtime resident of Sioux Falls and also fresh out of high school, had fallen in love with Karen the moment he met her… and the rest, as they say, is history.

Bobby smiled, "Alright, let me know what you want to do and I'll help you make it possible."

His wife's frown melted and she leaned forward, pecking him on the cheek, making him grimace- he hated when she did that- before making her way downstairs, talking all the way.

"We have to repaint the walls, beige just isn't going to do it," Karen called back as Bobby followed her, "I'm thinking blue… yes, blue for a boy's room. And that old bedspread has to go…"

SPN

After lunch Sam and Dean headed outside, the twelve-year old feeling way to claustrophobic inside. They raced to the big maple- Dean won- before laying down on the cool grass shaded by its massive trunk and myriad branches, panting.

Dean sat up against the tree's rough trunk, one arm behind his head and stared up at the maple's green leaves waving lazily in the breeze. Sam lay with his head resting on his brother's belly, legs straight out in front of himself.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean murmured.

"Yeah?" his brother replied, turning his head slightly to look at him.

"Can you tell me about this lady who talked to you?"

Dean wasn't sure his brother would want to tell him about the woman now- not after his reaction- but to his surprise Sam started talking.

"She was really pretty," he began, "She had blonde hair and blue eyes… kind of like Mom."

Dean smiled sadly. He remembered their mother vaguely- he had only been four when she had passed away- but the one thing that always stuck in his memory was his mother's wavy, golden blonde hair and blue eyes.

When Sam had been younger he'd love hearing about their parents from Dean; it comforted him somehow, to know what his mother and father had looked like, had acted like, even though didn't remember them at all. He knew some kids at the house who didn't know anything about their parents and he found that very sad, not to know where you came from at all. Sometimes, if Sam were feeling particularly bad, often after he and Dean were sent back to the Better Days House from their foster home, he would imagine his own parents walking through the doors, looking for them. Mary and John would be spies for the government and they'd had to fake their deaths to keep the bad guys from getting them but now they were able to take their sons back. Sam imagined going on adventures with his parents to exotic lands and despite the threat of the 'bad guys' they would always be happy because they were together and nothing would tear them apart again.

"She likes Superman the best," Sam told his brother with a smile and Dean groaned, "No way! Batman's way better!"

Sam was quiet for a moment before talking again, "I hope you're wrong, Dean, and she really does want to adopt us. I don't want to go to anymore foster homes."

Dean lifted his head to peer down at his brother, a lump in his throat, "I hope I'm wrong, too, Sammy."

W

Dean idly watched the smaller children playing at the jungle gym for a while. Sam had fallen asleep; his breathing slow and steady, so Dean let him be.

As the twelve-year old lounged, he thought about finally having a permanent home. It wasn't that Dean didn't want to get adopted, it was just that he and Sam had been at the orphanage for so long it seemed as though no one would ever want them. Deciding that he wasn't going to hold his breath any longer and wait for the perfect family to appear and take him and his brother away, the older Winchester boy had told himself that no one was going to adopt and it made him feel a little better every time they were passed over for a different kid. If Dean didn't expect to get adopted, he couldn't be disappointed.

Sam was different. He always held onto the hope that someday, someone would come along and see past his scars and adopt him and Dean. Dean loved his brother's optimism but he hated that Sam's dream continued to be unfulfilled.

But maybe… just maybe… Sam was right this time. Dean hoped so, for his brother's sake. He didn't know how many more times his brother could take rejection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Jeff Buckley song.


	5. Someone Special

Bobby Singer stood at the bottom of the stairs with his hand on the banister.

"Karen! What're you doing up there?" he called, checking his watch.

"I changed my mind," the mechanic heard his wife reply from their bedroom, "I think I want to wear the yellow one."

Bobby sighed and wiped a hand down his face.

"I thought you said you were ready?" he shouted, "Wichita ain't exactly a hop, skip and a jump away, you know!"

"Just," Karen replied, sounding as exasperated as her husband felt, "Give me a minute!"

The mechanic sighed again and swiped his baseball cap from his head, raking a hand through his hair before climbing the stairs to the bedroom he shared with his wife.

Bobby stopped in the doorway and watched as Karen slipped out of the blue polka-dotted dress she had been wearing and reached towards the yellow one with white trim lying at the end of the bed.

While his wife was still undressed, the man approached her from behind, wrapping his arms around her middle and kissing her cheek.

"You look lovely, Darlin'," he whispered and Karen melted into the embrace for a moment before pulling away.

"Thank you, Bobby," she told her husband sincerely, "Now, let me get changed!"

Chuckling, the mechanic left the room, telling his wife he'd wait for her in the car.

W

Karen began fidgeting and frowning in her seat only an hour into the drive to Wichita.

"What's wrong?" Bobby asked, glancing concernedly at his wife from the corner of his eye as he drove.

"Oh, I'm just excited," Karen confessed, "…and nervous."

Bobby couldn't help but frown.

"Nervous about what?"

Karen had had nearly two months to get over her nerves. The paperwork for the two Winchester boys had- surprisingly- gone through quickly; Bobby had a feeling Ms. Janet Norris had helped push it through faster than usual, and all his wife had spoken about during that time to anyone who would listen was how they were adopting.

"What if…" Karen hesitated, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment, "What if they don't like us?"

Bobby didn't say anything. He wanted to tell his wife that they boys would be ungrateful if they decided not to like him and Karen but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Don't fret about it, Dear," he said after a time and Karen sighed, running her fingers through her blonde hair, a nervous tic she had, as she peered out the window as they drew closer and closer to Kansas.

SPN

Dean startled awake at the sound of someone tapping quietly on the door.

Sitting up in bed, the twelve-year old looked blearily around. Golden sunlight slanted through the green curtains covering the window.

Dean's gaze fell on his sibling as the visitor knocked again. Sam was sound asleep so the older Winchester climbed out of the bed and answered the door.

"Good morning, Dean," Ms. Norris smiled and the boy peered somewhat nervously up at her.

"Uh… hi Ms. Norris."

"Dean," the woman said in a stern tone, though she was smiling, "Can you and Sam come to my office after lunch?"

"Okay," Dean said, "Are we in trouble, Ma'am?"

Ms. Norris shook her head, "Of course not. See you then."

Dean stared at the woman as she turned and headed down the hallway towards the staircase.

"Dean?"

The twelve-year old turned around and saw his brother sitting up in bed, bleary eyed and puffy-faced.

"Who was that?" the eight-year old asked sleepily.

"Ms. Norris," Dean answered, closing the door and moving across the room to the dresser.

"Ms. Norris! What did you do, Dean?" Sam asked indignantly.

"Me? I didn't do anything!" Dean scowled, pulling off the t-shirt he had been sleeping in and tossing it onto the floor.

"What did she say? Why did she want to see you now?" Sam asked, his tone still suspicious.

"She wants us to see her after we've had lunch," Dean told his brother as he pulled a Batman t-shirt on.

"Why?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged, "She didn't say."

"You don't think we're in trouble, do you?" the eight-year old asked, anxiously.

"I don't think so," the older brother replied as he pulled down his pajama bottoms and grabbed a pair of jeans, "She didn't seem angry though."

Sam nodded, biting his lip and climbed out of bed to get dressed as well.

Dean waited patiently as his brother picked out his clothes and got dressed before they both headed downstairs to the dining room.

"If we're not in trouble, why does Ms. Norris want to see us?" Sam asked as he and Dean stood in line for breakfast.

Dean shrugged, his rumbling stomach now vying for attention.

"Maybe she has a new foster home for us," he told his brother and Sam sagged visibly.

"That might not be it," Dean said lamely.

Sam peered over his shoulder at him, "Then what?"

Dean didn't say anything because he didn't know.

Instead he busied himself with grabbing his breakfast- scrambled eggs with bacon and toast- before following his brother to a table.

SPN

"I can't tell you how much this means to us," Karen told Janet Norris as she and her husband entered her office.

The director of the Better Days house smiled, "I'm just happy those boys have found a permanent home. We'll miss them here but I wouldn't want to see them anywhere else than with you, Mrs. Singer, Mr. Singer."

Karen smiled, she was so excited to be finally able to take the Winchester brothers home to Sioux Falls. She looked over at Bobby and he smiled back at her.

Reaching out, she took her husband's hand and squeezed, knowing he was nervous.

"Now, we have some things to discuss before Sam and Dean join us," Ms. Norris told the Singers and both Bobby and Karen turned their attention to her.

SPN

Sam poked at his tuna casserole with his fork without eating them. Since breakfast the eight-year old had been quiet, clearly anxious. He hadn't even wanted to go outside after breakfast and had sat in the recreation room instead, flipping through Superman comics without reading them.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean urged, "You should really eat something."

The eight-year old looked nervously at him.

"If Ms. Norris was mad at us," Dean tried, "Do you think she would make us wait until lunch to talk? No, she'd haul us to her office in our pajamas for everyone to see."

The twelve-year old smiled, trying to lighten the mood but it was lost on his brother.

Sighing, Dean finished his lunch without really tasting it.

SPN

Three sets of eyes turned to the closed office door as a quick rapping sounded against the wood.

Standing, Ms. Norris smiled and stepped around her desk to the door.

Karen smiled as the door opened to reveal Sam and Dean Winchester.

The older brother was standing in front, his sibling hiding behind him, and the twelve-year old's eyes suddenly narrowed with distaste at the sight of the Singers.

"Dean," Ms. Norris addressed the children, "Sam, this is Karen and Robert Singer. They are going to adopt you."

Karen watched as the younger of the two, Sam, peeked out from around his brother and his eyes widened in shock.

"You!" he exclaimed, a look of astonishment on his face, "I remember you!"

Karen chuckled, "Hello, Sam."

The eight-year old brushed past his brother and stepped right up to Karen.

"You're going to adopt us? Really? We'll get to live with you forever?"

Karen nodded, her eyes suddenly prickling with tears at the hopeful expression on the child's face.

"We are," she said quietly.

The grin that broke through the boy's face melted the woman's heart and before she knew what she was doing, Karen reached out and gathered the child to her in a hug.

For a second the boy stood as stiff as a board before Karen felt two thin arms wrap around her middle.

Karen sat up and looked over Sam's head at Dean. The twelve-year old remained in the doorway, looking uncertain.

"Come here," the woman said and gestured him forward.

Dean didn't move but he looked up at Janet Norris.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"Dean-" Ms. Norris began but the boy interrupted her.

"No! Other kids get to know that they're going home! Why didn't you tell us? You let us spend the whole summer vacation not knowing!"

Karen saw Janet's expression changed, her smile turning to a frown and her eyes taking on a sad light.

"Dean," the director tried again, "I didn't want to get your hopes up, that's all. I know how hard it is for you and Sam… and I didn't want you to be disappointed unnecessarily. You understand, don't you?"

The twelve-year old still didn't look happy but he nodded and he finally entered the room, stepping towards Karen and his brother.

Glancing down, Karen saw Sam was peering up at her, his green eyes large.

"Do you live in Kansas?" Dean asked and Karen shook her head, "We're from South Dakota."

Before Dean could ask any more questions, Janet Norris spoke up, "Why don't you boys pack your things? I have to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Singer."

Karen watched as Sam walked over to his brother and Dean placed an arm across his narrow shoulders.

Sighing, she turned her attention back to Janet.

SPN

Sam's heart was pounding in his chest from excitement. He couldn't believe it! They were finally leaving the orphanage forever! They were getting a real family!

Dean walked up the stairs behind his brother, quiet.

Once Sam reached the landing, he turned back to his sibling.

"You were right, Dean! You were right all along!"

Dean smiled but the expression was guarded.

"What's wrong? Dean?" Sam asked nervously.

"Nothing, Sammy," Dean lied.

The twelve-year old made to move past his brother but Sam reached out and put a hand on his chest, stopping him.

"They're really adopting us, right? They're going to give us a forever home, aren't they?"

Dean nodded, "Yeah, they are."

"What's wrong? Why aren't you happy?" Sam asked suspiciously.

"I am, Sammy," Dean argued and smiled, "I guess I'm just surprised, is all."

"Oh," the eight-year old muttered, then, "We're going to okay, right?"

Dean's expression suddenly turned to one of concern and he put a hand on his brother's shoulder and squeezed.

"We're going to be fine, Sammy," he assured his sibling, "I promise."

W

"Let me help you," Dean offered as Sam dragged his luggage down the hallway towards the stairs.

"I've got it," Sam remarked, both hands wrapped around the handle.

Dean though, didn't feel as though Sam did have it and grabbed another handle with his free hand.

"Careful, Sammy," Dean advised as the eight-year old started down the narrow staircase.

It had not taken the brothers to pack everything they owned into their suitcases; the boys' possessions consisted mostly of clothes and personal toiletries such as combs and toothbrushes.

Once they made it to the first floor, Dean relinquished his hold on his brother's luggage back to Sam and gave his brother a wry smile as the eight-year old started down the hallway towards Ms. Norris' office.

"Hey freak!"

Sam staggered to a stop at the familiar voice calling and turned to see Quentin coming towards him from the 'Wreck Room'.

"Where are you going with that suitcase? Another foster home?" the bully asked, a smirk spreading across his lips.

Sam didn't fight the smile that urged the corners of his mouth to turn up.

"We're going home," he told Quentin proudly.

The thirteen-year old scowled, "Home? You don't have a home!"

"Yes, we do! We got adopted!" Sam exclaimed happily, "Right, Dean?"

"That's right, Quentin. We're leaving forever."

The older boy stared, clearly at a loss for words.

"Y-You'll be back! Just wait and see! You always come back!" He called as the brother continued on, ignoring him.

SPN

Bobby stepped forward automatically to help the youngsters with their bags, earning a sincere 'thank you' from the little one and a nod from the older one.

"Miss," he heard the little one say, "How long does it take to get to South Dakota?"

"It will take seven hours," Karen replied, "But don't worry, we'll take breaks."

Bobby led the way out to the parking lot, his wife, two young boys and Ms. Norris following in his wake.

Unlocking the trunk of his car, he deposited the boys' luggage inside before closing the lid and turning to Karen.

Janet Norris stood to one side, her eyes moist.

"Good luck boys," she told the children, "We'll miss you."

Bobby smiled as the younger brother hugged the woman and bade her goodbye. The older sibling just seemed uncomfortable.

"Alright," Karen said, clapping her hands together once, "Let's head home."

Once everyone was in their seats, Bobby turned the vehicle on and slowly backed out of the parking spot, waving at the orphanage's director as he did so.

Glancing in the rearview mirror at the two brothers, Bobby couldn't help but wonder if he and Karen were doing the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Poets Of The Fall song.


	6. Take Me Home

Dean peered out the car's back window as they drove farther and farther away from the Better Days home.

He wanted to be happy, he really did, like Sam was, but he was anxious, leery.

He and Sam had been disappointed so many times before that despite what he had told his brother- that someone special would adopt them- he was afraid to believe that the Singers really wanted them.

It seemed too good to be true… and he just hoped that it wouldn't be.

"Why did you want us?" Dean asked the Singers suddenly, speaking before he could stop himself.

Sitting in the seat behind Mr. Singer's, Dean could get a view of his wife and he saw the woman smile at his question.

"I knew Bobby and I had to adopt you because I loved you both the moment I saw you."

Dean frowned and glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye. Sam had a goofy smile on his face, even as his cheeks grew pink with a blush.

Dean didn't know how to respond to the woman's answer. No one had ever told him that they loved him- no one but Sam, of course- and hearing it made his feel kind of funny, but in a good way.

"Mrs. Singer," Sam piped up, "What does your house look like? Is there a yard? Do you have a pool?"

Dean saw the woman cringe a little and she turned in her seat to see the eight-year old better.

"You know you don't have to call us Mr. and Mrs. Singer," she told the both of them, "We don't expect 'Mom' and 'Dad' or anything like that."

She paused and looked at her husband, "Bobby and Karen are just fine."

"Okay," Sam agreed before launching into another barrage of questions.

SPN

After four hours of driving everyone was ready for a break. There was still a bit of a drive to go before they reached Sioux Falls- it would be around eight or nine in the evening before they made it home- but Karen was starting to get hungry and even though the boys didn't say anything, she was certain they were too.

Bobby parked the car in front of a diner in a small town they were passing through. The restaurant was large and looked family-friendly so the Singers and Winchesters eagerly stepped inside. The floors were red and white checked tiles, the walls were bluish-green with pictures of Elvis Presley, James Dean and Marilyn Monroe. Neon signs in red and blue and vanity license plates also adorned the walls. The tables were cream-and-gold speckled Formica, the chairs and booths covered in red vinyl.

"Hi there," a young waitress greeted the group, "Four?"

"Yes," Bobby said and the young woman led them towards a booth to sit.

Karen and her husband slid into seats across from the boys.

"Can I start you off with drinks or do you need some time to decide?" the waitress asked as she passed out menus.

"Can you give us a few minutes?" Karen asked and the waitress nodded, walking away to serve other customers.

Karen opened her menu and skimmed though the food items to the back where the drinks were.

"Oh look!" she exclaimed, "There's a kid's menu."

She sat her menu down and pointed to the back page that offered child-sized portions of food for youth 12 and younger.

"You know what yer gonna drink?" Bobby asked and Karen nodded; she always had tea whenever she ate out.

Returning her attention to the boys, Karen frowned at the brothers staring at their menus with uncomfortable expressions on their faces.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her heart suddenly skipping a beat.

"Nothing," Dean answered, a little too quickly, and nudged his brother with his elbow.

"Yeah… nothing," Sam muttered.

Frowning, Karen leaned forward, "Boys, look at me."

Reluctantly both brothers lifted their gazes to her. Dean's hazel eyes were dry but oddly red-rimmed and Sam's lower lip was trembling threateningly.

"Since this is our first meal together as a family," Karen said seriously, "I don't want you to worry about money. Bobby and I have more than enough. You can order anything you like."

"Now," she continued, after a quick glance down at the beverage list, "I don't know about you but they're milkshakes sound delicious."

SPN

At first Dean wasn't sure- Mrs. Singer- Karen, was telling the truth. He and Sam were not used to eating out and the few times they had actually done so, they weren't allowed to order anything they had wanted.

But then Sam asked Karen if he could have a peppermint milkshake and the woman had smiled and told him of course he could. Dean then felt comfortable enough to tell her that he'd like a butterscotch milkshake.

When the waitress returned to take their drink orders Dean noticed that when her gaze fell on Sam, a look of unease crossed her face and she stopped in mid-sentence.

"He wants a peppermint milkshake," Dean spoke up brusquely, glaring at the young woman.

She nodded and stared down at the notepad she held, scribbling onto it before letting them know she'd be back in a few minutes with their drinks and to take their meal orders.

Dean turned to his brother and saw Sam staring intently at his menu.

"Sammy," he muttered, "Hey, Sammy, don't…"

"Oh honey," he heard Karen say and she reached across the table to put her palm against Sam's unscarred cheek.

Sam shook the woman's hand away and wiped at his face for a moment before looking up, clearly trying to keep it together.

"I'm fine," he insisted and Dean sighed, not feeling so happy now.

Karen looked to her husband and the man scowled, clearly not pleased at the waitress' behaviour either.

W

The drinks took ten minutes to arrive- Dean knew because he was watching the clock ticking away on the far wall- the waitress not even apologizing for the wait.

"Is everyone ready to order?" she asked, turning to Dean and his brother first.

"Can I have a cheeseburger with fries," Dean asked and she nodded, writing the order down.

Lifting her gaze to Sam, Dean could see the young woman was clearly not sure whether she wanted to stare or look away.

"I'd like the chicken strips, please," Sam said quietly.

"What kind of sauce?" the waitress asked, her tone rude.

"Excuse me," Karen spoke up and four sets of eyes turned to her, "Can I ask you what the problem is?"

"There's no problem here, Ma'am-" the waitress began but Karen interrupted her.

"You look like someone spat in your salad," the woman replied, "Now, I don't want to make a scene, but I will ask you to wipe that expression off your face before you finish taking our orders."

The waitress' mouth formed an 'o' of shock and her face grew red right up to the roots of her hair.

"Finish taking his order, please," Karen instructed and the mortified waitress nodded, asking Sam what sauce he would like and writing down his answer before turning her attention onto the adults.

Dean gaped at Karen Singer for a long moment, surprised that she had spoken to the waitress as she had, a smile forming on his lips as he listened to the young woman meekly take the Singers' orders.

As soon as the waitress left the tableside, Karen smiled at the Winchester brothers.

"You didn't have to do that," Dean told her but the woman shook her head, "Yes, I did. I couldn't sit there and let her be so rude to your brother."

Dean nodded and looked at Sam; his brother's green eyes were shining and he had a shy smile on his face.

SPN

The meals came promptly, the waitress now smiling in a friendlier manner than she had previously.

"Enjoy your meals," she told the newly formed family as she set the plates on the table, servile and realizing that she wasn't about to get a tip due to her previous attitude.

Karen smiled as she watched Sam take a healthy gulp of his milkshake from the large bendy-straw stuck into the thick drink, before pouring the tea into her cup from the small metal teapot the waitress had brought.

Now that they were eating, the brothers seemed much more at ease, joking and talking to one another freely, comfortable with the Singers' presence.

Karen chuckled as Sam filched French fries from Dean's plate when the twelve-year old wasn't looking, once the younger sibling had finished his own.

Glancing at her husband, Karen reached out and gripped Bobby's hand underneath the table, squeezing it.

Her husband glanced at her from the corner of his eye and returned the gesture, smiling.

W

"Is there anything else I can get you?" the waitress asked once the plates were empty.

"Would you boys like dessert?" Karen asked and Sam nodded eagerly, Dean smiling.

"Can we see a dessert menu?" Karen asked and the waitress nodded, leaving to retrieve one.

SPN

Bobby couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the sight of the two boys, both looking extremely satisfied and happy.

Sam had asked for a hot fudge sundae and Dean had wanted a slice of pecan pie.

The grizzled auto mechanic had been surprised that as he was pulling the money from his wallet to pay for the dinner, the younger sibling had thanked him, looks of gratitude on both brothers' faces.

Bobby had just shook his head and told them that it was his pleasure.

Karen slipped out of the seat beside his and stood, holding her purse.

"I think we should all stop off at the bathroom before leaving," she announced, "Bobby? Would you take the boys to the men's room?"

"Sure," the man said and the Winchesters followed him towards the back of the diner, Karen bringing up the rear before she turned to the women's restroom.

Bobby watched as the brothers headed towards the stalls while he remained outside, choosing to relieve himself at a urinal.

"Dean," he heard the younger boy call from one stall, his tone quiet, telling Bobby he was trying not to be overheard, "They really love us."

At first Bobby thought Sam was talking about the fact that the boys had been allowed to pick their own meals and not be forced to eat what he and his wife ordered for them as some parents did but then Sam commented on Karen telling that waitress off and Bobby smiled.

SPN

"Bobby," Karen whispered to her husband and motioned to the two sleeping boys in the back seat of the car.

"I think all that excitement tuckered them out," she said and Bobby glanced at the rearview mirror, lips curling upward.

"You know what, Darling?" Bobby asked and Karen peered at her husband, "I think you were right about brining these boys into our family."

SPN

Bobby smiled down at Dean, the twelve-year old's eyes glued to the mechanic as he carried his sleeping brother up to the house.

The Singers had been reluctant to wake either brother but Dean had stirred once the car was parked and the engine shut off.

Sam, apparently a heavy sleeper, remained unconscious so instead of waking him, Bobby had offered to carry the eight-year old.

Small for his age, Sam seemed as light as a feather in Bobby's arms and posed no hindrance as he made his way up the porch steps.

Just as Bobby crossed the threshold after his wife and Dean who had taken the brothers' luggage, Sam began to fidget in his arms, waking.

"Huh… Hi," Sam mumbled blearily, sitting back in Bobby's arms and the man smiled.

"You were asleep and we didn't want to wake up," Bobby explained as he sat Sam down on his feet, the eight-year old blinking tiredly as he took in the sight of the first floor of the Singer homestead.

Karen busied herself with turning on the lights before her attention focused on the children.

"We've all had a big day," she said, "But now it's late and you two should be in bed."

"Really?" Dean asked, "We just got here."

Karen nodded, "We'll have the grand tour tomorrow. For now, why don't I show you your bedroom?"

Bobby watched, as Dean looked unconvinced until Sam yawned widely and then he nodded, agreeing with his wife's terms.

"I'll be down in a few minutes," Karen told Bobby and he nodded, making his way into the kitchen as his wife took the boys upstairs.

The auto mechanic pulled out a chair and sat down. Taking his baseball cap off and setting it on the table in front of him, Bobby raked a hand through his hair.

He'd never wanted kids before, certainly not boys, but Karen had had other plans. Now it seemed as though he was getting a couple of sons whether he liked it or not.

And the brothers weren't exactly babies either. They had their own experiences and history, were shaped by them, and Bobby was sure that'd come out the more time the boys spent with him and Karen.

Standing abruptly, Bobby moved to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of beer, twisting off the cap and tossing it onto the counter.

Lifting the bottle to his mouth, Bobby suddenly recalled the times when he himself had been a young boy and his father would return home to his wife and son, drunk, to beat on both of them.

Scowling, the auto mechanic walked to the sink instead of the table and dumped the beer, the amber liquid glugging into the stainless steel sink wetly.

"Bobby, are you alright?"

Karen's voice startled him and he turned, beer splashing onto the linoleum as he did so.

Quickly Karen approached, grabbing the tea towel hanging from the handle on the stove and knelt to mop up the spilt beer.

"Karen," Bobby said, setting the now empty bottle on the counter and reached down to his wife.

"Bobby," his wife said, her cheeks flushed, "It's going to be alright. It'll take a bit to get used to, of course, but it'll all turn out, you'll see. I wouldn't have asked you to do this for me if I didn't believe in you."

Karen lifted herself up on her toes and kissed his cheek.

Bobby wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tightly, "I just… I didn't think it'd bother me so…"

Karen stared up at him, her blue eyes wide, "You are nothing like your father, Bobby. I know you aren't."

Taking a deep breath, he nodded, "Why don't I make us some coffee?"

SPN

Sam stared at the room the Singers had set aside for him and Dean.

The walls were painted a light blue, with posters of the solar system, classic cars, the Sioux Falls Canaries, and dinosaurs, and a large navy blue area rug that covered the hardwood floor. There were two dressers- one for each brother- and on the far side of the room a bunk bed. Sam stepped into the room and saw that the bottom bed had Superman sheets on it, a plush toy rabbit sitting on the pillows.

"I wasn't sure if you were too old for stuffed animals-" Karen began hesitantly but Sam reached out and took the tow from his bed, smiling.

"Thank you," he said, grinning.

He'd never had toys of his own. Even during holidays where presents were traditionally exchanged, Ms. Norris gave every boy and girl treats of candy and chocolate, but toys were shared by all of the children in the orphanage, kept in the 'Wreck Room'.

Dean stepped up the short ladder that led to the top bunk and pulled down a stuffed teddy bear. Sam grinned at the shy smile that crossed his brother's face as he held the toy. Dean would almost certainly say that he was too old for toys like the bear but the look on his face told Sam that he was feeling the same way right now.

"I was thinking that tomorrow we could go to the toy store in town and get you boys some more things," Karen continued.

"Oh, Ma'am, I mean, Karen," Dean began, "You don't have to-"

The woman shook her head, "I want to. Please, let me. Why don't we say it's to make up for eight years of birthdays and Christmases missed?"

Dean nodded, looking down at the bear in his hands.

"I'm sure you two would like some privacy," Karen said, "If you need anything, Bobby and I are downstairs and we'll be just down the hallway tonight, alright?"

Both brothers nodded as the woman left the room, closing the door behind her.

Dean looked up at Sam and held out the bear, "Do you want it?"

Instead of arguing with Dean to keep the toy, Sam held out his free hand and took the bear from his brother.

"Pretty cool room, eh?" Dean asked as he went to his suitcase and opened it, pulling out a pair of pajamas.

"Yeah! I like it," Sam agreed, setting the toys back on lower bunk bed and making his way to his own suitcase.

W

"You okay down there, Sammy?" Dean asked from above the eight-year old, lying in the top bunk that had been dressed in Batman sheets. The lights had been turned out for the night, casting blue shadows across the room with only a sliver of light from a crack in the door for illumination.

"Mmhm," Sam muttered, eyes closed.

He wasn't used to sleeping in his own bed but knowing that his big brother was so close he wasn't even afraid of the dark.

Sam snuggled deeper into the blankets, both toy rabbit and bear clutched to his chest.

"Alright," Dean said, "Goodnight, Shrimp."

Sam smirked at the nickname and sighed, feeling content and safe, something that never happened the first night he and Dean stayed somewhere new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Phil Collins song.


	7. This Must Be The Place

Dean climbed down the short ladder, bare feet hitting the wooden floorboards almost silently, and paused to peer at his slumbering brother.

Sam lay curled up beneath the Superman blankets, a small smile on his face.

Turning, Dean padded across the bedroom floor and opened the door. The hallway was dark and shadowy. Although not afraid of the dark, the twelve-year old was hesitant to traverse the unfamiliar corridor.

Taking a deep breath, Dean hurried down the hallway to the open bathroom doorway. Flicking on the light and snapping the door shut, Dean answered the call of nature.

Leaving the bathroom, the twelve-year old walked calmly down the hall. Upon returning to the bedroom, Dean heard a quiet whimpering and rushed to his brother's bedside.

Even in the darkness, he could make out his sibling's form sitting up, the eight-year old sniffling sadly.

"Sammy," Dean whispered and sat down on the edge of the bed, "Hey, it's okay."

"Dean," the eight-year old replied quietly, his voice thick, "I h-had a nightmare."

The older brother frowned and wrapped an arm around his sibling's shoulders.

"You know you don't have anything to be scared of, right?" Dean asked, "I won't let anything get you."

In the gloom, Sam nodded, "Can you sleep with me? Please?"

"Of course," Dean assured his brother and the eight-year old quickly moved closer to the far side of the bed, closer to the wall to allow his brother room.

The twelve-year old clambered onto the bed and laid down on his back, head resting against his brother's warm pillow. Sam settled down beside him, curling against him and Dean couldn't help but smile.

SPN

Karen woke even before Bobby and picked up her housecoat from the end of the bed, shrugging it over her shoulders. Pausing to slide her feet into her slippers, the woman left the bedroom she shared with her husband, closing the door softly after herself.

Walking quietly down the hallway, Karen peeked into the room Dean and Sam Winchester shared, smiling at the sight of the brothers sleeping in the lower bunk bed, before shutting the door and heading downstairs.

Making her way into the kitchen, Karen began to prepare the coffee she knew her husband would want as soon as he woke up.

As she went over the familiar actions of filling the kettle with water to boil, and scooping the coffee grounds into the filter, it could have been just any other morning but the woman knew everything was different.

Her family wasn't just Bobby anymore. Now, she had two young boys to look after and care for.

Karen's heart swelled as she thought about the brothers sleeping soundly upstairs and was startled to feel tears well up in her eyes.

She had wanted nothing more than to have children of her own for as long she could remember and now that she had been given the chance, Karen was overcome with worry for the Winchester brothers and their future.

She hoped that she and Bobby would be able to do right by them.

When the kettle was ready, Karen poured the boiling water over the ground coffee and filter, sending it streaming into the pot to send up a warm, earthy scent.

W

Just as Karen was sitting down at the kitchen table with a fresh mug of coffee, footsteps alerted her to the approach of two small boys.

The woman smiled as Sam and Dean stepped into the kitchen.

"Good morning," she greeted warmly, "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Dean replied politely.

Both brothers were dressed and ready for the day. Dean was wearing blue jeans and a grey and green flannel button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Sam wore an oversized, red Superman shirt and khaki pants.

"What would you boys like for breakfast?" Karen asked, standing up.

"Whatever you have," Dean answered.

"Hm," Karen muttered and peered into the cupboards. She only had a half-eaten box of Corn Flakes, as well as bread and a carton of eggs.

Turning around, the woman frowned in an exaggerated way, "I guess I could make us some pancakes."

Sam instantly brightened up, "Yes, please! I love pancakes!"

Karen smiled and nodded, "Then it's settled, we're having pancakes for breakfast!"

SPN

Bobby sat up and stretched, groaning as his joints popped.

He peered sleepily to his side and was somewhat surprised to find that he was alone in bed. Normally Karen would wake him when she got up.

Swinging his legs to the side of the bed, the man paused as the sounds of laughter came floating towards him from the lower floor of the house.

The boys, he thought, that's right.

Bobby felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth at the cheerful sound from below.

Standing, the auto mechanic and tow-truck driver stretched once again before picking out his clothes for the day.

SPN

Sammy grinned at the face Karen had made in one of the pancakes with chocolate chips. He was standing on one of the kitchen chairs, right against the front of the oven so he could help cook.

The woman, standing right beside him, returned his smile and flipped the pancake over before the chips melted too much.

Sam peered over his shoulder at Dean. His brother was sitting at the table, watching. The twelve-year old didn't look left out though, on the contrary, he was busy sneaking chocolate chips from the bag on the table when Karen wasn't looking.

"Think we have enough?" Karen asked, drawing the eight-year old's attention back to the cooking pancakes.

Sam glanced at the pile of cakes atop the plate sitting beside the stove; they couldn't decide which type of pancakes to make so they had cooked up some blueberry ones, peanut butter and banana ones and chocolate chip ones.

The boy nodded, and Karen picked up the plate so that Sam could put the last cake onto it. Carefully, the eight-year old slid the spatula under the sizzling pancake and flipped it, so that it landed face-up on the others.

"Now I just have to get Bobby up and then we'll eat," Karen said and turned, already untying the yellow apron she was wearing from around her waist when her husband stepped into the kitchen.

"Perfect timing," the woman told her husband, "You can have pancakes with us."

"Smells wonderful, Darling," Bobby smiled before turning his grey eyes on Sam who was still standing on the chair in front of the oven.

"Did you help make breakfast?"

Sam nodded, suddenly shy and hopped off the chair to head to the table and sit beside his brother.

Karen brought the plate of pancakes to the table and took a seat.

"You boys start," she told the brothers and both boys nodded, Dean picking the chocolate chip pancake while Sam chose the peanut butter and banana one.

Bobby took a moment to get himself a coffee before sitting at the table.

Sam carefully cut into his pancake with his knife and fork and began munching away happily.

"Hey Squirt, slow down," Dean said, chuckling nervously, "Don't you want some maple syrup?"

The eight-year old stopped chewing and nodded. Dean reached for the bottle of syrup and poured a generous amount of the sweet, golden-brown liquid onto his brother's pancake.

Sam continued eating, slower now, relishing the taste of the food.

"I was thinking that after breakfast we could go to the toy store I was telling you about and check it out," Karen told the boys before pausing to take a sip of her coffee.

Sam's eyes widened with excitement and he smiled at the woman, "Really? You mean it?"

Karen nodded and Sam turned to look at his brother, grinning.

Dean returned the gesture though not as wholeheartedly as Sam.

The eight-year old, now not so certain, stared at his pancake for a long moment, no longer feeling like eating it.

He knew what Dean was thinking: if they went out in public people were going to stare at him, or point, or even ask questions and Sam hated that. It made him feel like a freak and didn't make him want to go out again.

"Boys," Karen said, "What's wrong?"

"Noth-" Dean began but Sam interrupted.

"Everyone's gonna stare at me."

The woman turned her blue eyes on the boy and frowned.

"If you don't want to go to the store, we don't have to," Karen said, "I won't force you to do something you don't want to do."

Sam nodded, breathing out slowly through his nose.

"But I want you to know," the woman continued, speaking seriously, "That there is nothing wrong with you. Nothing. If people stare at you then it is their problem and they should be the ones to feel ashamed. Understand me? Both of you."

Sam looked up at Karen, his heart beating fast and hard at the woman's words.

"Yes," Sam answered quietly, Dean repeating the word just as softly.

Karen nodded, "Good. Now, finish up your breakfast before it gets cold."

SPN

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" Karen asked, speaking to her husband through the open car window.

Bobby smiled but declined, "Y'all have fun. I've got some things to work on around here."

Karen nodded, hoping that Bobby really did have to work on some cars for customers and wasn't just trying to avoid spending time with the boys.

"Well, alright," she relented, "We'll be back in a couple of hours."

Bobby nodded and waved goodbye as Karen backed out of the driveway; smiling when she noticed Sam was waving at her husband.

Once they were on the road into town, Karen turned on the radio and searched the stations for something kid-friendly, finally smiling when 'Surfin' Bird' by the Trashmen came on.

W

The drive into town took less than twenty minutes. Karen drove through Sioux Falls' familiar streets slowly so that the boys wouldn't miss a thing.

She pointed out the park, the police and fire station- side by side- and the diner where she worked as a waitress.

Finally she pulled the car into the parking lot of the toy store. It was one of those chain stores, the name emblazoned onto the storefront with brightly-coloured letters, the 'R' turned around cheekily to resemble a child's writing, Karen guessed. Finding a spot and parking the car, the woman exited the vehicle right after the two boys.

"Wow," Sam exclaimed, "It's huge! And they only have toys in there?"

Karen smiled, "Everything a kid could want."

Reaching out, she hesitated for a moment until the eight-year old took her hand with one of his, the child taking his brother's hand as well.

Karen felt her heart swell in her chest as she and the two Winchesters made their way across the parking lot towards the store.

Stepping up onto the sidewalk that bordered the store, Karen paused, "Now boys, this is for you two. If you want something we'll get it. Don't worry about money, alright?"

Both children nodded at her words, sobered for a moment before Karen smiled again and they visibly relaxed.

The new family passed through the sliding glass doors and stared at the thousands of toys that greeted them. Directly beside the entrance was an area for shopping carts. Karen told the boys to stay where they were for a moment while she went to retrieve one.

SPN

Sam gripped Dean's hand tightly as they waited for Karen to get a cart.

The eight-year old peered around the store; signs in orange, red, green and blue hung suspended above each aisle, indicating what each offered. Employees wearing black pants and bright red golf-shirts made their rounds, stacking toys or helping customers find what they needed.

A bloodcurdling scream cut through the air and Sam instinctively moved closer to his brother. The eight-year old peered nervously up at his sibling as Dean wrapped and arm around his shoulders.

"What was that?" the younger boy asked, just as Karen was returning with the cart.

Before either Dean or the woman could answer, the source of the shriek appeared in the form of a little girl of around Sam's age holding onto a Cabbage Patch Doll in one hand while her mother dragger her along by the wrist with her other hand.

"MOMMY!" the girl screamed again, "I WANT IT!"

The distraught-looking mother stopped and turned to the girl, taking the doll from her hands and shoving it roughly onto a shelf of Mr. Potato Heads.

"I said no, Melissa," the woman told her daughter, "You have too many as it is. I told you we were getting it for Jenna's birthday, not you."

The spoiled child wailed again as she was led farther and farther away from the toy by her mother, the woman giving Karen an exasperated look that Sam caught sight of, before leaving the store.

"C'mon boys," Karen's voice tore the eight-year old's attention away from the door the mother and daughter had passed through and he looked up at the woman.

"Which aisle do you want to go down first?"

Sheepishly, Dean replied, "Don't really know, Ma' I mean, Karen."

"Well, let's try them all," Karen said with smile and started off deeper into the store, the boys right beside her.

W

Avoiding the aisles that were dominated with pink and purple- girl's colours- Karen guided the brothers towards toys she was certain they would like.

The shopping cart contained LEGO kits for a pirate ship, a police station, a fire station and a Sandcrawler from Star Wars; actions figures of both Superman and Batman, a remote-control car and a soccer ball.

"Think we have enough for a while?" Karen asked and Sam nodded, Dean confirming that they didn't need any more toys.

"Alright, let's pay for these and head home," Karen said and began to push the full cart towards the end of the store where checkout was.

Sam, holding Dean's hand, stopped abruptly and stared up at the large, plush golden retriever sitting on the lowest shelf.

"C'mon Short-" Dean began but then paused and turned when Sam didn't hurry after him.

The eight-year old reached out and touched the fur on the stuffed dog's chest, smiling. He loved dogs and they loved him.

"Do you want that?" Karen asked, startling Sam from his reverie.

"Uh… um…" Sam hesitated; they already had a lot of toys and he didn't want to seem greedy.

The eight-year old shook his head, thinking of the two stuffed animals sitting on the bunk bed at the Singers' home but Karen just reached out and picked up the toy.

Dean squeezed Sam's hand and winked when the woman turned away.

"That's pretty cool, Sammy," he whispered, "It's bigger than you!"

Sam grinned, pleased and happy that Karen hadn't made a big deal about it.

The family got into line and waited patiently until it was there turn to pay. Sam stood with his face inclined downward, his hair in front of his eyes so that he didn't even see if the teenage cashier smiled at him or not, but he could hear her talking to Karen.

"Do you want to hold him on the way to the car?" Sam looked up and saw Karen holding the stuffed dog out to him. The eight-year old nodded and grabbed the large toy, using it to obscure his face.

As they made their way out of the store, Sam felt Dean's hand on his back but he refused to lower the toy. No one had looked at him in the store because they were too busy staring at all the toys but now, out in the parking lot, people would gawk at him.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said and pushed the dog down so that it was no longer in front of Sam's face.

"There's no one out here," the twelve-year old assured him, "It's okay."

Sam lifted his head and looked around. Dean was right; they seemed to have parked in an area that was quiet.

"Okay, Dean."

SPN

Karen smiled as she peered into the backseat through the rearview mirror. Sam had insisted on having the stuffed dog toy in the back with him and it sat squeezed in between him and Dean.

"Karen," the woman's eyes caught Dean's face in the mirror.

"Yes?" she asked.

"You really didn't have to do this for us but… thank you."

"You don't have to keep thanking me for everything," Karen told Dean, "We're family now. That's what we do for each other."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Talking Heads song.


	8. Dark Side

Karen looked up at the happy sounds floating down to her from the boys' bedroom.

As soon as they returned home, the brothers had wanted to check out the new LEGO sets, flying upstairs to the bedroom as though they had lived in the house for years instead of only a day, excited to finally have toys of their own.

Karen put the last of the sandwiches together, thinking that she'd take them up to the boys for lunch and maybe play with them as well, when there was a loud thud from directly above her head and she heard Sam cry out angrily.

"No! Dean! Don't!"

Eyebrows knitting together in confusion, the woman peered upwards.

So much for a couple of well-behaved boys, Karen thought, though she didn't begrudge the children, aware that siblings didn't always get along with each other, even ones who were as close as the Winchesters.

"Stop it!" Sam shouted again and Karen decided she should go see what was wrong.

Leaving lunch sitting on the counter, she headed up the stairs.

"Sam? Dean? Is everything alright?" Karen called as she walked, not wanting to surprise the boys.

There was no more yelling now, but she thought she heard one of the Winchesters hiss at the other, saying something that sounded like 'now you've done it.'

When Karen didn't receive an answer, she stepped up to the bedroom door, ajar, and pushed it open so that she could get a view of the room.

It looked as though a LEGO store had blown up inside the bedroom. Tiny, multicolored blocks carpeted the floorboards and area rug. Sam sat in the middle of the plastic bits, as though he were an island unto himself in the midst of a vast ocean and Dean was propped up on his elbows, lying crosswise across the top bunk bed, facing towards his brother. The twelve-year old had the controller for the new remote-control car in his hands but the vehicle itself was nowhere to be seen.

"What happened?" Karen asked gently, keeping any accusatory tone from her voice.

Both brothers spoke up at once:

"I was playing with the LEGOs and-"

"Sam wasn't even doing anything with them and I-"

"-He couldn't wait to play with that car but I told him to wait 'cause I wasn't-"

"-Didn't want to play anymore so I grabbed the car and he-"

"-Ready and he didn't listen and he crashed it-"

"-Freaked-out even though I told him they were just LEGOs and-"

Karen held a hand up to stop the tirade. She could see that Dean was frustrated, angry; his lips pursed tightly, his eyes narrowed. Sam, on the other hand, appeared to be on the verge of tears; his face was bright red, causing the scar to stand out even more than usual, his eyes wet.

Instead of telling the boys what to do- Karen had always hated it when her mother had done that with her- she asked their opinion.

"What can we do to fix this?"

Both brothers stared at her, apparently no one had ever asked them that question either.

"Uh… we could…" Dean muttered, staring at the black, plastic remote in his hands.

"Maybe the car could go outside," Sam offered, glancing carefully at his brother from the corner of his eye.

"Dean, does that sound okay to you?" Karen asked and the twelve-year old nodded.

"What about all the LEGOs?" the woman prompted.

"Is there a container we could use to put them in? So they don't get lost?" Dean asked and Karen told the boys she would find something they could use for the LEGOs.

"They're still all over the floor, though," Karen reminded the boys, "What could we do about that?"

Dean looked sheepish, "I'll help Sammy clean them up."

Karen nodded, "When you're finished, lunch is waiting for you downstairs."

W

While she waited for the boys to appear for their sandwiches, Karen searched for a container to put all the LEGO pieces in. Happily, she spied a large, clear plastic container that had once held Neapolitan ice cream.

Setting the container on the counter, Karen busied herself with a phone call she'd been meaning to make since the previous day.

Quickly punching in the number, she leaned against the kitchen doorframe as she waited for her mother to pick up.

"Hello," Karen's mother, Eileen, answered, her voice whispery and thin with age.

"Hi Momma," the daughter replied and smiled at the happy sound her mother made on the other end of the line.

"Karen! How have you been, dear?" Eileen asked, her tone now more cheerful than it had been previously.

"Great, Bobby and I are doing good," Karen replied, "How about you?"

"My hip's giving me a bit of trouble but Dr. Parsons said I shouldn't be worried, I just have to be careful not to fall again."

Karen nodded, thinking of the time, a few years ago now, when she had received a phone call in the middle of the night from the hospital in her hometown in Oregon with the news that her mother had fallen as she'd been getting out of the bathtub and fractured her hip and arm.

"How about you, Karen? I doubt you're calling just to say hello to your old, senile mother," Eileen asked, jokingly.

"You know those two little boys I was telling you about the last time I called? The ones from that orphanage in Wichita?" Karen asked.

"You didn't? Did you?" Eileen asked excitedly and Karen chuckled, "I did. They're ours now."

"What about Robert?" her mother asked.

"Bobby's fine with it," Karen explained, "Besides, even if he wasn't that'd be too bad."

"I was calling to let you know that you finally have grandchildren," Karen continued, "And that I'd love for you to come and meet them."

"I'd love to Karen, but…" Eileen hesitated.

"Mom," Karen said sternly, "We'll pay for your flight."

"…" Karen's mother didn't respond.

"Mom? Momma? You hardly get a chance to see us anyway, one extra flight this year isn't going to break the bank," the daughter urged.

"You're right," Eileen relented, "And I would love to get to know my grandsons."

Karen smiled, "Then its settled-"

She paused as Sam and Dean entered the kitchen, both looking less flustered than they had when she had seen them upstairs.

Placing one hand over the receiving end of the phone, Karen spoke to the boys.

"I'm talking to my mother- your grandmother- would you like to say hello?"

"Okay," Dean replied and Sam nodded.

"Hey Mom, the boys are here right now," Karen spoke to her mother, "I'll put them on so you can say hi."

She handed the phone to Dean.

"Hello, Ma'am," the twelve-year old greeted.

Karen listened as Dean told her mother his name and his age, telling Eileen that he liked it in Sioux Falls very much before giving Sam the phone.

Again, the boy was asked his name and age, and then Sam asked his own question.

"Can I call you Granny?"

Karen could hear her mother laughing on the other end of the line and smiled when Sam's face lit up with a grin.

"Bye Granny!" he crowed before handing the phone back to Karen.

Letting Eileen know that she'd call again to arrange for a flight to South Dakota, Karen hung up the phone.

"I found something for the LEGOs," she told the boys and showed them the ice cream container.

"Do you think they'll all fit?" Sam asked, eyeing the plastic container.

"I don't know, Squirt," Dean commented, "Why don't we try it out?"

Before the boys could take up upstairs again, Karen spoke.

"Do you want lunch now or later? I can wrap up the sandwiches if you're not hungry."

Both children looked at her and shook their heads, "We want to play some more."

Karen raised an eyebrow, "Alright."

Dean grabbed the ice cream container from her and he and Sam ran back upstairs.

SPN

Bobby pulled into the driveway, tired and frustrated. All he wanted to do was have a nice cold beer and make love to his wife.

Exiting his truck, he stomped up the porch steps, peering curiously at the brand-new, blue and white soccer ball sitting beside the front door.

Sighing, Bobby wiped a hand down his face. He'd completely forgotten about the boys. Well, he could at least do one of the things he had in mind.

Stepping inside, the adoptive father didn't see the boys but Karen smiled at him from the couch in the living room where she was watching television.

"How was work?" his wife asked, standing up and turning the TV set off.

Bobby shook his head, "The shop in town called just after you left and wanted my advice on this one car. It was a problem with the transmission but when the owner came to discuss what they could do the idjit didn't want to listen to anyone at all. Ended up arguing with him for the better part of an hour just to have him tell us he didn't want to pay for the car parts and left."

Karen frowned and reached out to squeeze her husband's arm, "I'm sorry that happened."

Bobby shrugged, "Don't matter now. I'm home. How are the boys?"

After the morning he had had, Bobby secretly wished he'd decided to go with Karen and the brothers to the toy store.

"They're good," Karen replied, "They're just upstairs playing. I got them some LEGO kids that they really like."

Bobby nodded, "You didn't go overboard with the toy buying, did you?"

His wife scowled at him and Bobby chuckled, making his way to the kitchen and opening the fridge to pull out a beer.

Karen followed Bobby and looked surprised that he had chosen an alcoholic beverage. Glancing down at the bottle, Bobby sighed and peered back at his spouse, "I figured you were right yesterday. One beer ain't gonna turn me into my Daddy."

Twisting the cap off, Bobby took a healthy swig of the liquid before moving to the kitchen table and taking a seat.

"You going back to work tomorrow?" he asked his wife.

Karen nodded sadly, "I'd like to have more time to spend with the boys but they won't let me take that much time off work."

"I know," Bobby sympathized, "But I'll be here. It'll let me get to know the boys better."

"Speaking of," Karen said suddenly, her blue eyes shining, "I asked Mom to come over and meet Dean and Sam, maybe next week?"

Bobby nodded, that sounded good.

Taking another gulp of his beer, the man looked up as the sounds of two sets of feet running down the stairs reached his ears.

"Karen, can we-" Dean began but then stopped abruptly.

Both boys stopped in the kitchen doorway, Sam holding a remote-control car and controls in his hands while Dean stood right behind him, hands on his brother's shoulders protectively.

They were both staring at the beer bottle on the table.

"Dean? Sam, what's wrong?" Karen asked concernedly.

The twelve-year old's expression had darkened and the hands on his brother's shoulders tightened. Sam's eyes were wide with a hint of fear in their mossy depths.

Bobby knew instantly what was causing those looks the boys were giving him, had seen those very same expressions dozens of time because he and his mother had worn both at one point or another when his father would drink.

Standing, noticing Sam taking a step back, the mechanic made a bee-line for the sink and poured the beer down the drain, just as he had the other night of his own accord.

Turning, Bobby gave the boys a sympathetic look.

"I'm not like that," he assured them.

Dean gave him a wary look, like he didn't quite believe Bobby, before turning to Karen and speaking.

"Can Sammy and I play with the car outside?"

Karen nodded, her expression suddenly grim, sadness clouding her sapphire eyes.

"Yes, that's fine," she said, "Stay in the yard, though."

"We will," Dean promised, keeping both hands on his brother's shoulders, "C'mon Short Stuff."

Steering Sam through the kitchen doorway, the boys left the house quietly and quickly.

As soon as she heard the screen door swipe shut after the brothers, Karen went to Bobby's side and took up one of his hands.

"Bobby-" She began but stopped when he raised his free hand and laid his palm against the side of her face, her golden hair tickling his knuckles.

"It's alright, Dear," he muttered, "I shouldn't be drinking anyway."

Karen's lips turned down in a frown and her eyes searched Bobby's face, clearly still troubled.

"What… what do you think happened to those two boys… to make them look like that?"

Bobby sighed and let his hand drop from the side of Karen's face.

"Janet said those two were shuttled two and from foster homes since they were little," he began, "And although most folks have the best interests of the children in mind, others… well, it's not easy to keep tabs on all the families in the foster care system, you know?"

Karen looked horrified at the idea that the boys had been through a bad experience in foster care. Bobby smiled sadly, he knew that Karen wasn't naïve and knew that some people didn't truly care about the children they were charged to look after, but it as just her gentle heart breaking at the thought of any child abused or neglected by those who were supposed to protect them.

Standing up once more, Bobby went to the fridge and found a can of Coca-Cola to drink instead. By the time he turned around, Karen had left the kitchen.

SPN

Dean watched silently as Sam used the remote control to maneuver the car, sending the small toy racing over the gravelly driveway and bits of metal and rubber that had broken away from vehicles piled up in the salvage yard.

Neither brother spoke, both quiet and contemplative.

Well, at least Dean was.

The sight of Bobby drinking had shaken Sam and Dean hated anyone and anything that scared his brother.

The twelve-year old knew it wasn't Bobby's fault, he knew that adults could and did drink without getting drunk but as soon as he had seen that beer bottle on the kitchen table, Dean was instantly transported back to that foster home. The one they didn't talk about and which Sam still had nightmares about.

Feeling as though he should speak to his sibling, Dean called his brother's name.

Sam looked up, stopping the remote-control car.

"C'mon over here for a minute," Dean encouraged and Sam walked over to the porch step where he was, sitting down beside him.

The twelve-year wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders and drew him close.

"Karen and Bobby have been really nice to us so far, right?" Dean said and Sam nodded in agreement.

"They took us out for dinner, let us make pancakes for breakfast, even bought us toys," Dean continued, his brother listening to every word.

"Remember the first time you saw Karen?" the older brother asked now.

Sam nodded, "Yeah."

"Do you think they'd do anything to hurt us? Really?"

Sam hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.

"Besides," Dean assured him, squeezing Sam, "I'll protect you if anyone ever does try and hurt you, right?"

The eight-year old nodded, looking up at him, "Do you think Karen and Bobby are mad at us?"

Dean shook his head, "Of course not."

Leaning over, the twelve-year old planted a kiss on top of his brother's head.

"Why don't you give your favourite big brother a turn with the car?" Dean asked, smiling, tired of the depressing mood and in need of something to cheer him up.

Sam handed him the remote to the car and watched as Dean raced the vehicle all along the driveway.

W

Dean didn't even notice when Karen leaned out the front door to call him and Sam in for dinner. They had stayed out all afternoon, first playing with the remote-control car and then the soccer ball.

Breathing heavily from the active play, Dean and Sam stepped inside to the smell of cooking pork chops.

"Wash up before you come to the table, alright?" Karen advised and the boys headed upstairs to the bathroom.

Sam had started opening up again after they had spoken, but now, back inside, he was quiet.

Dean just knew his brother was thinking about the foster home and he wished he could tell Sam to forget it, that they would never have to go through something like that again but it just be an exercise in pointlessness.

Instead, the twelve-year old tried to distract his sibling.

"I bet Karen's pork chops are a whole lot better than the ones they had at the orphanage."

Sam nodded and grimaced, clearly imagining the mass-produced chops slathered in gravy and cooked to the colour and consistency of elephant skin that had been sitting in the scorching African sun for days.

Once both boys had washed their hands, they headed back downstairs and entered the kitchen to see the table set, with dishes of pork chops, broccoli, and mashed potatoes and gravy accompanying plates and cutlery.

Sam and Dean sat down side-by-side, the Singers waiting until the boys were settled before they began doling out the food.

Unfortunately, the first family meal together of home-cooked food didn't go as well as Dean was sure Karen and Bobby wanted it too.

Sam didn't say much during dinner, answering in monosyllables and when Dean tried to carry a conversation with the couple, it was strained.

"I have dessert," Karen announced brightly as the dishes were cleared away, "I baked a pie while you were outside playing."

Dean perked up at the prospect of a sweet treat and nudged his brother's arm, expectantly.

"I don't want any pie, thank you," Sam muttered.

Both Singers turned concerned looks on the younger boy but Dean tried to assure them that his brother was really alright.

The twelve-year old did indulge in a slice of pie- Shoo Fly- but without as much gusto as he usually would manage.

"This is really tasty!" Dean exclaimed, shoving a large piece into his mouth because he couldn't bear to sit there in the uncomfortable silence for much longer.

Once he was finished dessert, Karen offered to let the boys watch some TV.

"Uh…" Dean hesitated, glancing at his brother, "Is it okay if we go upstairs and play instead?"

"Of course," Karen told him and Dean just about dragged his sibling up the stairs to their room, slamming the door shut behind them.

Sam climbed onto his bed and grabbed the oversized stuffed Retriever, burying his face into the faux, caramel-coloured fur.

Dean stood in the middle of the floor, sad for the first time since arriving at the Singers' house.

Since Sam clearly wasn't in the mood to play, Dean occupied himself with building the pirate ship from one of the LEGO kits Karen had bought them that morning, a morning that seemed so long ago now.

After a while Sam shifted his face against the dog to watch Dean but he didn't say anything and didn't move to join in.

A quiet knock at the door made the twelve-year old up and Karen peeked into the room, "Hi."

"Hey," Dean replied.

"You boys should take baths tonight," she began, "Can you ah… do you need any help with that?"

Dean shook his head, "We're fine."

Karen nodded and left, closing the door again.

Standing, the twelve year old went to his dresser- he and Sam had moved their clothes into the pieces of furniture earlier that day- and picked out some underwear and a pair of pajamas.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean said, "We should do what Karen says."

Reluctantly, the eight-year old slid off the bed and moved to his own dresser to pick out what he wanted to wear.

Walking down the hallway with his brother, Dean heard the sounds of the television coming from downstairs and hoped that Sam would relax once he realized that no one was going to bother them.

In the bathroom, however, Dean locked the door, just to be sure Karen wouldn't' try to walk in on them before waiting as Sam took a bath first.

SPN

Sam did not want to sleep by himself but after making Dean sleep with him the night before, he was reluctant to ask the same thing of his brother.

After bathing, he and Dean had gone downstairs and Karen had given them a bedtime snack of a glass of milk and a chocolate chip cookie each.

Sam had tried to be happy, to smile, but he was tired and it was easier to stay quiet.

He tried not to meet Karen's gaze, to see her concerned expression but had been surprised when the woman knelt down and hugged him tightly.

Sam had stared at her face as she embraced him, seeing only love and worry in her eyes and had finally returned the gesture.

"Hey, Sammy?" he heard his brother call from the top bunk, "You asleep?"

The eight-year old didn't reply, pretending that he was, in fact, sleeping and wasn't awake, afraid to close his eyes.

Karen and Bobby are nice! He told himself harshly, they wouldn't hurt me or Dean!

Still, the little boy found it very difficult to sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Kelly Clarkson song.


	9. Trust

Bobby woke up alongside his wife when the alarm clock rang to rouse Karen out of bed and sat up.

"Are you sure you're going to okay alone today with the boys?" his wife asked for the nth time- they had already had this discussion the night before- and Bobby nodded, "I'll survive."

Karen scowled at him.

Bobby sighed, "It'll be good to have the boys on their own."

Karen nodded, "I don't think they've ever had a strong male figure in their lives so spending time with you one-on-one should be good for them."

Bobby agreed and stood, stretching before heading to the closet to grab a shirt.

"You don't have to get up now," Karen told him, "You can sleep in, you know."

"I know," Bobby commented, "But I'd like to be up when the boys come downstairs."

Karen nodded and began dressing in the uniform she wore for work.

Once dressed in a long-sleeved, orange-and-grey plaid shirt and jeans, Bobby headed down to the kitchen to make some coffee, leaving Karen on her own to finish getting ready.

Bobby made it to the landing and paused at the top of the stairs, peering to his left to gaze at the boys' bedroom door shut tight.

Sighing, Bobby prayed that he'd be able to make it through the day with the two Winchesters.

SPN

Dean blinked awake and stared at the bedroom ceiling.

Seconds later he remembered the previous days events, everything from the trip to the toy store to Robert Singer's drinking.

Sitting up, the twelve-year old instantly felt concern for his brother, recalling Sammy's mood the day before.

Shoving the Batman blanket away, Dean made his way to the end of his bed and climbed down ladder to the bedroom floor.

Glancing at his brother's form, snuggled beneath a red-and-blue Superman blanket, Dean smiled.

"Sammy," he murmured, "Hey, Sammy."

The eight-year old's eyes opened and instantly sought out his sibling.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said softly and sat up.

A quiet knock on the bedroom door drew the brothers' attention away from each other. Dean saw Sam grow tense and he answered the sound.

"Yeah?"

The door opened an inch and Dean saw Karen Singer peering cautiously into the room.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" the woman asked.

Dean shook his head.

Karen smiled, "I just wanted to let you know that I'll be at work today but I'll be home for dinner. Bobby's still here."

Dean nodded, feeling suddenly anxious but kept his nerves in check.

"Alright," Karen continued uneasily, "I… I love you two."

Dean smiled in response and watched as the woman closed the door, leaving the boys alone again.

The twelve-year old turned to his brother and saw that Sam was shaking, his green eyes wide.

"Sammy, hey, Sammy, its okay," Dean reached out and wrapped a comforting arm around his brother's shoulders.

"K-Karen's going away!" Sam exclaimed, unhappily.

Dean squeezed his brother tightly to his side, "She's just going to work, Short Stuff. She'll be back."

"B-But B-Bobby's gonna b-be here… a-alone wi-with us," Sam whimpered.

"Sam," Dean said, "Sam, look at me."

The eight-year old complied and lifted his chin to peer into his brother's hazel eyes.

Dean could see that Sam hadn't had a good night's rest as he should have. He knew without a doubt that his brother had been thinking about that foster home and hadn't said anything to him, keeping his fear a secret.

"I told you before," Dean spoke, his voice soft, no longer stern, "I won't let anyone hurt you or anything bad happen to you."

Sam stopped shaking and nodded, still staring up at Dean with large green eyes.

Reaching up, the twelve-year old ruffled his brother's dark brown hair. Sam smiled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

"C'mon Short Stuff," Dean said, standing up, "Let's get dressed and see if we can catch Karen before she leaves for work."

SPN

Bobby glanced up at the sound of twin pairs of feet running down the stairs.

Peering through the kitchen doorway, the auto mechanic spied the Winchester brothers hurrying into the living room.

"Just missed her boys," Bobby called, knowing exactly why the children had rushed downstairs, "Sorry."

Slowly the brothers stepped into the kitchen, the little one looking crestfallen and the older one looking irritated.

"Karen didn't say anything about going to work when we were with her yesterday," Dean voiced his complaint and Bobby nodded.

"She didn't want you to worry about her not being around today," Bobby told the boys, "So she didn't say anything."

Dean frowned, "We're not little kids. She should have said something."

Bobby gave the boy an apologetic look but there was nothing he could do about it now. If Karen missed any more days of work, she was likely to get fired.

"You want pancakes for breakfast?" Bobby offered but Dean shook his head.

"Can we just have cereal?"

Bobby stood, noticing the smaller boy slipping behind his sibling as he did so and tried to ignore it as he grabbed the box of Corn Flakes from the cupboard.

Dean thanked him and found bowls and spoons for himself and his brother before also grabbing the milk jug form the refrigerator.

The mechanic watched in silence as the twelve-year old prepared breakfast for himself and his younger brother, bringing the bowls of cereal to the table.

Bobby waited until the children were eating before he decided to speak again.

"I have some work to do in the garage," he told the Winchesters, "But I'll be here all day so you won't be on your own."

Dean nodded, cheeks filled with the corn flakes he was trying to wolf down, and Bobby took that as a sign that he could continue.

"If you, ah, need anything, you can…" Bobby began but hesitated.

"We won't destroy the house," Dean assured him, Sam nodding quickly in agreement as though he didn't know that his brother had been joking.

Bobby realized that he needed to say something about the elephant in the room, if only to put the little boy at ease- Dean seemed to be trying to act as though nothing had happened the day before and while Bobby could understand that, he knew they couldn't just ignore what had upset the Winchesters as though it had never occurred- and sat up a little straighter in his seat.

"Boys," he said, carefully, drawing their attention, "I wanted to talk about what happened yesterday, with the beer."

He caught sight of the eight-year old hunch his shoulders and the older brother frown and Bobby wondered if he should have just kept his mouth shut.

"I know what its like to live with someone who drinks," Bobby continued, memories spilling over into his mind, "My own Daddy would come home from the bar, barely able to stand some nights. My Momma and I would put him to bed on the couch because he'd be too drunk to make it upstairs."

Both boys were listening intently, Sam still looked as though he were trying to shrink into himself and Dean had a rather cynical expression on his face for a boy of only twelve.

"Other nights… worse nights... He's storm in and yell at me and my Momma," Bobby continued, "And sometimes he'd get violent. He'd hit my Momma if dinner wasn't ready on time, or if it wasn't what he wanted to eat."

Sam's green eyes were growing wider and wider, his face paling so that the scar stood out red against his skin, just as it had the day before when he'd seen Bobby with a beer in his hand.

Why am I telling this to a couple of kids? Bobby wondered.

Because something was telling him they had seen as much violence in their young lives as he had when he'd been a boy.

"He never hit me," Bobby told the brothers, "He'd yell and cuss at me for spilling the milk at dinner or doing poorly at school but he saved it all for my Momma."

"When he died I told myself that I would never become him," Bobby spoke numbly, trying to distance himself from his memories, "That I would never be a drunk like him, hit a woman or shout at a kid…"

Dean's expression seemed to have softened; he no longer looked as though he was trying to decide if Bobby was just trying to make him and his brother feel better.

"I don't drink all that often," the mechanic continued, "And I'd never drink enough to get like my Daddy when he had too much."

"I'm sorry about yesterday," Bobby apologized, "I didn't know but that isn't an ex-"

Dean shook his head, "No, its not your fault. You didn't know about… about us… I guess Ms. Norris didn't tell you."

Bobby stared at the boy for a long moment, shocked by his words.

Reaching out, the auto mechanic grabbed his coffee mug, downing the hot liquid and stood.

"If you boys need me," he told them, "I'll be outside."

SPN

Once Sam had finished eating, Dean led his brother upstairs to their room and enticed him into building with some LEGO for a while.

Sam, surprisingly, was much changed- smiled at Dean eagerly and laughed at his lame jokes.

The twelve-year old grinned, glad that his brother was once again happy.

SPN

"Karen? Karen? Karen!"

The woman looked up and saw the other waitress, Faye, calling her name.

"Sorry," Karen apologized, smoothing down her apron, "I'm just distracted today."

Faye placed a hand on her hip, "What's wrong?"

Karen sighed, "I keep thinking of those two boys-"

"You finally adopted?!" Faye exclaimed excitedly, forgetting that she was supposed to be serving customers.

Karen smiled and nodded. Faye made her way around the counter and hugged her.

"That's great, Karen!" Faye told her.

Karen peered over her fellow waitress' shoulder and saw another customer enter the store.

Holding Faye at arm's length, Karen smiled, "No rest for the wicked, eh?"

Faye peered over her shoulder to spy the newest customer just taking a seat in one of the booths before smiling at Karen, picking up the coffee pot and making her way over to the man.

Karen, alone behind the counter once more, sighed and reminded herself that she would be seeing the boys that night and smiled, eager to return to them when her shift ended.

SPN

Dean made sure that Sam was asleep before heading outside to look for Bobby Singer. The poor kid was exhausted from his sleepless night filled with thoughts of that awful foster home they never spoke of and Dean hadn't even argued when Sam had complained he was tired and even suggested he take a nap. Creeping down the stairs, certain that his brother wouldn't wake until he returned, Dean headed outside to find Bobby.

Beside the house was a ramshackle garage, painted the brown of dark chocolate, with a corrugated tin roof, the doors open wide to reveal the grizzled mechanic working on a Toyota.

"S- er, Bobby?" Dean called as he stepped into the doorway.

The man looked up, his expression surprised and he closed the hood of the car, approaching the boy as he wiped his hands off on a rag taken from the back pocket of his pants.

"What do you need, son?" the man asked, his expression now concerned.

Dean lifted one shoulder, "I just… I think I should let you know what happened."

Bobby's eyebrows lifted in shock, "Are you sure?"

Dean nodded, his expression determined.

The twelve-year old took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts before he began. Bobby waited patiently and allowed the boy the time he needed to prepare himself.

"It was a long time ago," Dean began, "I don't really know how Sammy still remembers it… or how much he actually does remember and what parts are just nightmares- he was only two or three- but he has bad dreams about it sometimes. He never tells me outright that that's what the dreams are about but I just kind of know.

It wasn't anything special, just another foster home, one that we'd be leaving soon anyway. Everything seemed okay at first, I mean, sure the lady kind of stared at Sammy every time she saw him but he was used to it. She smoked a lot and the house stank but she let us eat anything we waned out of the fridge and cupboards so that was cool."

Dean spoke quickly, feeling as though he'd lose his nerve if he paused to take a breath.

"The man… he watched TV a lot and kind of ignored Sammy and me… and he drank a lot."

Bobby's expression turned sad, "He didn't… hit you boys, did he?"

Dean shook his head, "Mostly he just yelled at us if we were playing too loud or if we got in front of the TV."

Bobby nodded, his expression hopeful.

The twelve-year old took a deep breath, "He left near the end of the second week and was gone for a few days. The lady said he was at work but when he came back I know that's not where he had gone. It was late Sammy and me were having dinner and the man came into the house, slamming the door. When he got close, I could smell alcohol on him. Sammy got scared and knocked his bowl onto the floor, making a mess.

The man heard the sound and came storming in like he was gonna yell at Sammy. Instead, he grabbed him and picked him up, shouting into his face and shaking him. The lady started to scream and the man pushed her out of the way. He… He saw that the s-stove was still h-h-hot and he brought Sammy over, saying that he was g-gonna even up his f-face."

Dean stopped, tears in his eyes. In his mind's eye could saw that horrible scene as though it was playing out in front of him: the lady with her back against the wall, hands covering her face, the man holding a screaming Sammy close to the hot burner on the stove, Dean himself frozen to the spot, terrified and helpless to stop the inevitable.

"He didn't hurt Sammy," Dean assured Bobby with a little more strength in his voice, "He was close but then he kind of stopped and fell, holding his chest. Sam hit his head on the stove. The lady called an ambulance and when the police came too they took Sammy and me back to the orphanage. We never went back to that house again and we never talk about it. Ms. Norris didn't even tell us what happened to that lady and man."

Dean glanced up at Bobby. The mechanic opened his mouth to speak but then closed it.

"Thank you for telling me," he told Dean.

"Don't say anything to Sammy," the twelve-year old demanded and Bobby promised he wouldn't.

"Can I tell Karen?" he asked and Dean nodded.

After a moment, Dean offered the man a wary smile; "Maybe after lunch I could come out and help you with the car?"

Bobby nodded and Dean grinned.

SPN

Bobby couldn't help but think of the story Dean had told him as he fixed lunch for the boys.

He felt terrible that something so sad had happened to the two brothers but reminded himself that many children in the foster-care system were just as unlucky.

Besides, he told himself that nothing was going to happen to the Winchesters again. He and Karen would make certain of it.

SPN

As Dean listened to Bobby intently explain what was wrong with the Toyota and what he had to do to repair it, he also kept an eye on his brother, just outside of the garage, playing with the remote-control car Karen had bought them the day before.

His brother still seemed a little wary of the mechanic but Dean hoped that if he spent time with Bobby, he'd show Sam that the man was not going to try and hurt him, even if he did have an occasional beer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Megadeth song.


	10. It'll Shine When It Shines

Bobby hoped that he hadn't messed things up with the Winchester boys, especially little Sam. Dean, though he was still young, seemed to realize that the mechanic was sincere in his desire to care for them as though they were his own and not hurt them but Sam was clearly slow to warm up to strangers, especially men and Bobby didn't begrudge him for that.

As Bobby showed Dean how to fix the car, explaining to the twelve-year old all about the types of problems an auto mechanic could be faced with, Sam remained outside the garage, close by but separate from the bubble Bobby and Dean had created.

"…The thing that I like best about fixin' cars," Bobby heard himself tell the older of the two Winchester brothers, "is that you can fix 'em, more often than not. You just open up the hood and take a look inside and after a bit of work, the car's good as new. You order new parts, get your hands a bit dirty, but that's not a big deal, as long as you know that in the end, that car will be headed on down the road again in a few days as though nothing ever happened to it."

Dean appeared to be listening raptly to Bobby's words, poking and prodding at the engine that would have to be replaced.

The mechanic took a breath and looked up to check on Sam and he couldn't help but feel that somehow his words applied to the children so recently come into his life.

Of course, children were not like cars; Bobby didn't think that at all, it wouldn't take an oil change and a new set of brakes to fix these boys.

Because they're not broken, Bobby told himself.

Sure, they've been through tough times, seen things and been involved in things no child should be, but they aren't broken. They're wary, cautious, but not a lost cause.

They haven't had a lot of adults in their lives that they can trust, rely on, and although that has caused some distrust, they still want to have someone to care for them, they want someone to love them.

"Bobby?" Dean's voice brought the mechanic out of his musings and he looked into the twelve-year old's open, earnest expression.

"Let's take a break," Bobby said, reaching out for the car's hood to close it.

"I've got some cans of lemonade in the fridge," he told the boy and Dean nodded, leaping off the stool he'd been standing on so he could see into the car's entrails and hurried to his brother.

"You boys hungry?" Bobby asked as he stepped out of the garage and followed the two towards the house.

Although they had eaten lunch only an hour earlier, Bobby found himself speaking the words anyway, recalling how his mother would always offer him something to eat after an argument with his father, as though she thought that by doing something as normal preparing a meal for her son she could make everything better.

Peering over his shoulder, Bobby glanced at Sam and thought about what Dean had told him, again.

W

Bobby took a sip of the chilled lemonade and smiled at the eight-year old as Sam took a gingersnap from the pile the mechanic had poured onto a saucer.

The corners of the child's mouth lifted slightly and he met Bobby's gaze, showing that, for now at least, he wasn't afraid of the man.

"Hey Bobby?" Dean spoke up, taking the mechanic's attention away from his brother, "Can we play Hide-And-Seek?"

Bobby nodded, "Sure. You wanna play in the house?"

The twelve-year old shook his head and pointed instead to the maze of car carcasses decorating the Salvage Yard's front yard.

"Can we go in there? Please? We'll be real careful," Dean asked, his hazel eyes large and imploring.

Bobby swiped his baseball cap off and scratched at his reddish hair, "I don't know… it ain't exactly safe for kids…"

"We won't get hurt," Dean insisted, "Please, please, please!"

Sighing, the mechanic glanced at the cars, "Alright, but no climbing on the cars, okay?"

Dean nodded eagerly and grabbed his brother's arm.

"C'mon Sammy!" he exclaimed and Bobby smiled as the eight-year old shoved the remainder of his gingersnap into his mouth as he rushed after his sibling.

SPN

The brothers decided that Sam would be the first to hide and Dean would have to find him.

The eight-year old grinned excitedly and ran between the piles of old, junky cars, green eyes searching for the perfect hiding spot. From somewhere behind him, Sam could hear Dean counting down from one hundred.

Where could he hide? Sam wondered, glancing at the crushed and crumpled cars on ground level that were too mangled to climb into, even for a small boy such as him.

The singing of a robin drew Sam's attention upwards and he spied the bird sitting atop the roof of an old Buick, the topmost car on a tower of rusted vehicles.

"…50…. 20, 19, 18, 17…" Dean continued counting, skipping a few numbers so he wouldn't have to wait as long before searching for his brother.

Heart beating hard with excitement, Sam stepped up to the pillar of cars and quickly began climbing, eyes fixed on the Buick.

SPN

"…10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1! Ready or not, here I come!" Dean called and started off towards the dilapidated cars.

"Sammy… Where are you?" the twelve-year old called, peeking around the ends of rusted-out cars and peering through glassless windows.

Dean paused and listened for any telltale sounds from his brother; a stifled giggle, a shoe sliding against gravel, before continuing on, hearing only silence.

"Where are you, Sammy?" the twelve-year old called in a singsong voice, waiting for his brother to jump out from behind one of the cars.

Dean walked slowly, deeper into the maze of the Salvage Yard.

W

"Sam? Sammy, c'mon, where are you?" Dean called out several minutes later, not having so much fun as he had been.

Whenever he and Sam had played Hide-And-Seek before, at the orphanage, his brother had been easily to find; there were not that many places to hide in the Better Days Home.

Now Dean was growing tired of the game. He wanted a turn to hide.

"Come out, Sammy," he said loudly, "Let's do something else. I'm bored."

There was no answer so Dean sighed and decided to walk to the front of the junk yard to see if Sam had given up and was waiting for him, maybe finishing off all the gingerbread cookies and lemonade with Bobby on the porch.

The twelve-year old was walking past a teetering pile of cars, a lime-green Buick perched on top, when he heard his brother call his name.

"Dean!"

The older sibling peered around himself at eye level, not seeing his brother anywhere, when Sam called again.

"Up here!"

Tilting his head, Dean looked up and his hazel eyes widened in shock.

"Sammy! Come down!"

"'Kay," the eight-year old replied, "Did I win the game?"

Dean though, had forgotten all about Hide-And-Seek. He was nervously watching as Sam clambered out of the Buick's glassless window, his small feet dangling precariously above the hood of the car beneath the one he had hidden in.

"Be careful!" Dean cried, moving closer to the tower of cars.

"I'm fiiiiaaaahhh!" Sam began to assure his sibling that if he could climb up the cars than he could climb back down when his shoes slipped off the smooth hood of the car underneath the Buick and he fell.

SPN

Bobby Singer was drinking the last of his can of lemonade and musing on whether it had been a wise decision to allow the Winchesters to play among the old cars that had piled up in the yard over the years when he heard a high-pitched cry.

"SAM!"

The mechanic jumped up as though he'd been stung and stomped down the porch steps, heart leaping into his throat.

"Dean!" Bobby called as he rushed past dilapidated cars, images of the heavy vehicles pinning the boys beneath their immense weight flashing before his eyes.

"DEAN!" the new father cried loudly before he spied the twelve-year old on his knees beside his brother's unmoving body.

Oh God no, Bobby thought and approached the scene.

Dean peered over his shoulder and stood when he saw Bobby approaching, his face the colour of spoiled milk, his eyes spilling tears down his cheeks.

"S-Sammy's hurt," he blubbered, "P-Please, help him."

The auto mechanic crouched down beside the eight-year old. The child's eyes were closed, long hair partly obscuring his face. Glancing down, Bobby saw that the right leg of the boy's jeans were torn up to the knee and a large gash was pumping blood out onto the ground with every beat of the eight-year old's heart.

"Shit," Bobby breathed. Although there was only one visible injury on the child, there could be more he couldn't see.

There wasn't time to worry about broken bones, Bobby needed to get the boy to the hospital; the jagged gash in his leg was sure as hell going to need stitches.

Reaching down, the mechanic lifted the boy, one arm beneath Sam's knees, the other supporting his shoulders and turned to make his way towards his pickup.

The twelve-year old Winchester trailed along beside Bobby, dissolving into panic.

"Is he dead? Where are you taking him? Are you going to the hospital? Is he going to be okay?"

The mechanic stopped in his tracks, grey eyes meeting the child's hazel ones.

"He's not dead. I am going to take yer brother to the hospital. Yes, he's going to be okay."

Dean sniffed and nodded, wiping his face but still looking as though he were on the verge of hysteria.

Reaching his pickup where he had parked it in the driveway in front of the porch, Bobby carefully opened the vehicle's door and laid the unconscious eight-year old on the bench seat.

Next, he gestured Dean into the pickup, the twelve-year old sliding down the faux-leather upholstered seat until he was right beside his sibling.

Finally Bobby climbed into the cab, slamming the door and fishing the keys from his pocket.

"Don't let 'im fall onto the floor," Bobby instructed through clenched teeth as he started the vehicle and began backing out of the driveway.

W

The drive to the Sioux Falls General Hospital was short but tense. Dean whimpered and sniffed sadly, Bobby clenching his jaw and gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.

Parking in front of the Emergency Entrance, Bobby rushed inside, Dean holding tightly to the hem of his flannel shirt like a toddler and almost stepping on his heels he was walking almost on top of the mechanic.

The nurse behind the desk looked up as Bobby approached, her expression concerned yet professional.

"What happened?" she asked the new father.

Bobby glanced down at Dean quickly and the twelve-year old muttered, "He fell."

"Little tyke took a tumble," the mechanic told the nurse, "His leg's bleeding and I'm worried he hit his head."

The woman nodded and told Bobby that a doctor would be our right away.

Before the mechanic could even sit down in one of the dozen blue plastic chairs available in the waiting room, a young male doctor who looked as though he'd only recently graduated high school, stepped forward.

"I'm Dr. Chatsworth," he introduced himself quickly, "Please come with me."

Dean and Bobby followed the youthful doctor through a pair of swinging doors and deeper into the hospital.

As they walked down the hallway, Dr. Chatsworth caught the attention of a nurse and she joined their party.

The doctor led the small family to an empty exam room and gestured for Bobby to lay Sam down on the table.

The mechanic took a seat in the chair sat aside for patients- or parents of patients- while Dean stood beside him, eyes glued to the doctor.

Bobby reached out and wrapped a comforting arm around the twelve-year old's shoulders.

Dr. Chatsworth bent over the eight-year old, carefully brushing the child's hair away from his face and frowned when he caught sight of the scars marring Sam's skin.

Peering over his shoulder at Bobby, Dr. Chatsworth addressed him, "What caused these scars?"

Although the young doctor kept his tone professional, the mechanic heard just the tiniest hint of suspicion he seemed unable to keep as hidden as he'd liked.

"A fire when he was a baby," Bobby answered, knowing the doctor was only doing his job, had a right to be suspicious, "My wife and I only just adopted the boys a couple of days ago."

Dr. Chatsworth nodded, "Congratulations. I'll need you to fill out paperwork for the boy before you leave."

Bobby inclined his head, indicating he understood.

"Actually," the doctor continued and turned to the nurse in the room, "Tara, would you get the forms for this gentleman?"

"Yes Dr. Chatsworth," Tara answered and left the room.

Returning his attention to the eight-year old, Dr. Chatsworth examined Sam's head for any swelling or contusions.

Bobby jumped when the examination room door opened and Nurse Tara entered with a clipboard, a pen and a small stack of papers.

"Thanks," the auto mechanic muttered and began filling out Sam's information to the best of his ability.

W

"I need to clean and stitch the gash in your son's leg and give him a tetanus shot," Dr. Chatsworth informed Bobby, "You may not want to watch."

The new father nodded and stood, clipboard under one arm, "C'mon Dean, let's take this to the front desk and phone Karen to tell her what's happened."

The twelve-year old looked up, alarmed, "But-"

"Sam's in good hands," Bobby assured the concerned brother, "We'll come right back as soon as we're finished."

Reluctantly, Dean left the room with Bobby, peering over his shoulder as they made their way down the hallway.

As he walked, Bobby was surprised to find the twelve-year old's warm, moist hand find his own and curl against his fingers. Bobby smiled and squeezed the little boy's fingers comfortingly.

Returning the clipboard and forms to the nurse behind the desk, Bobby walked to the far side of the waiting room, near the doors to where three payphones were attached to the wall.

Fishing change out of his vest pocket, the mechanic dialed the number for the diner his wife worked at.

The phone rang a half-dozen times before it was picked up.

"Dottie's Diner," a woman's voice- not Karen's- answered, "Faye speaking. What can I get y'all?"

"Faye, this is Bobby," the mechanic said, "Karen needs to come to the hospital."

"What's wrong?" Faye asked and Bobby held back the urge to sigh. Faye was a nice enough woman but she was one hell of a nosey one too.

"Would ya just tell Karen she needs to be here?" he insisted.

"There's no one to cover her shif-" Faye started but Bobby interrupted, "Would ya just go?!"

"Alright," the waitress replied, and the father heard her call for his wife as she held the phone.

"Bobby? Bobby! What's happened? Are the boys alright?" Karen's voice asked frantically.

"Sam's had a bit of an accident," Bobby told her, "Nothing serious. But you should be here."

"I'm on my way," Karen replied and hung up the phone.

Bobby set the phone back in its cradle and ran a hand over his ruddy beard, glancing down to see Dean staring up at him, wide-eyed.

"Sammy's gonna be okay, right?" he asked and Bobby sighed, kneeling down in front of the boy.

"He'll be fine," he told the child, "He's already a fighter, ain't he?"

Dean nodded, "Yeah. He is."

Bobby smiled, "Than this ain't gonna stop him, ya think?"

The older brother shook his head, "Sam'll be okay."

Standing, the new father took the twelve-year old's hand and started back towards the double doors, "Let's go see if Dr. Chatsworth is ready for us."

SPN

Karen felt as though her heart was about to burst in her chest. She knew Bobby had said it was not a serious accident but she still feared the worst.

Stopping her car in one of the parking spots outside of Sioux General's Emergency Entrance, Karen all but ran inside.

"Karen Singer," she almost barked at the nurse behind the desk, "I'm looking for my son, Samuel Winchester."

The nurse, a woman in her sixties with hair like steel wool, and cool blue eyes, typed the information into her computer.

"Yes, he's being seen by Dr. Chatsworth. He is through those doors and in Exam Room 7," the nurse told her and with that, Karen was already dashing towards the double doors.

The woman roughly brushed her hair away from her face as she hurried down the hallway, searching for the proper examination room.

Finding it, Karen opened the door and saw her husband, Dean, a male doctor she took to be Chatsworth and little Sam.

"Karen," Bobby exclaimed and stood, making his way towards her.

"Doctor," Karen's husband said after greeting her with a hug, "This is my wife, Karen."

"Is Sam alright? What happened?" the woman asked, eyes darting to the child sitting up on the exam table, looking pale and dazed, his big brother seated beside him.

"Sam fell," Bobby told her, "But he's fine."

Karen could tell that her husband was not telling her the whole truth but she nodded, relieved anyway by his assurances.

"He has a mild concussion," Dr. Chatsworth informed Karen in a way that told her he'd already spoken to Bobby, "And a large laceration on his right calf."

Karen's eyes were drawn to the little boy's pant leg that had been cut up to the knee and the shin beneath covered in a clean, white bandage.

"He's very lucky not to have broken any bones," Dr. Chatsworth told them.

"Can we take him home?" the new mother asked and the doctor nodded, "He'll need to return so that the stitches can be removed but otherwise he shouldn't need a hospital stay."

Karen nodded, thanked the doctor, then scooped the eight-year old off the table and cuddled him to her chest.

The little boy leaned heavily against her, eyes half-closed.

Dean jumped down from the exam table and followed her out of the room.

"We'll have to stop at the pharmacy before we go home to pick up some things for Sam," Bobby told her and Karen nodded as she crooned to the little boy in her arms.

"Why don't I take him home?" the woman offered.

"That sounds like a good plan," Bobby agreed.

As they left the hospital, Karen felt a tug at her skirt. Looking down, she saw Dean peering up at her with wide, hazel eyes.

"Can I go with you and Sammy?"

"Of course you can, Sweetheart," the woman said and felt her heart swell in her chest.

Karen met Bobby's gaze and her husband smiled at her.

"We'll talk later," she mouthed to him as she headed towards her car while Bobby unlocked the door to his pickup.

SPN

Dean sat silently in the backseat of Karen's car, one arm around his little brother's shoulders.

Sam was quiet, the concussion and the painkiller Dr. Chatsworth had given him for his leg both making him tired.

The twelve-year old thought miserably about the past few hours. Everything seemed to be going great; Bobby had shown him how to fix a car and Sammy seemed to be starting to warm up to the mechanic.

Then he'd had to have the stupid idea of playing Hide-And-Seek in the Salvage Yard. Why didn't he just agree to play in the house like Bobby had said?

Dean had thought it'd be cool to play among the old cars. What a mistake that had been!

He was just glad that Sammy was going to be okay.

The twelve-year old looked up when the car pulled up the gravel driveway and approached the Singer homestead; Dean had been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed they had made it back.

The older sibling waited in the backseat of the car until Karen had exited the vehicle and opened the back door.

"Come here, Honey," the woman murmured to Sam and picked him up out of the car.

Dean climbed out after his brother and followed Karen into the house.

"Why don't you and Sam watch some TV?"

Dean nodded at the suggestion and Karen sat Sam down on the couch, the older brother settling in beside him.

Karen handed Dean the TV remote before heading upstairs to the bedroom she shared with her husband to change out of her uniform.

SPN

Bobby Singer idly pursued the shelves of allergy medicines, vitamins, cough syrups and anti-nausea remedies as he waited for Sam's prescriptions to be filled.

Dr. Chatsworth had written up a script for penicillin and a painkiller for the youngest Winchester, with instructions that the bandages around his leg had to be changed daily.

The mechanic sighed and took his baseball cap off to scratch at his reddish hair. He'd only been a father for a handful of days and already he'd messed up.

"What the hell was I thinking?" he muttered to himself, "Letting those boys play around the cars?"

When Karen found out what he'd done, he was a dead man, Bobby was sure of it.

"Sir? Your prescription is ready," the young pharmacist's assistant called and Bobby took the white paper baggie from her, grunting a distracted 'thanks'.

Heading out of the store, Bobby climbed into the cab of his pickup truck and glanced down at the bench seat beside him, noticing the streaks of dark red against the faux leather upholstery.

Grimacing, the mechanic put the truck into drive and pulled out of the parking lot, more than ready to head home and face his the music before it could get any worse.

SPN

Dean bit his lip as he listened to Bobby and Karen talking quietly, conspiratorially in the kitchen.

Sam was napping with his cheek against the arm of the couch; a pair of blue and red- Superman's colours- pajama pants covering his injured leg.

Bobby had arrived home a half-hour ago, given Sam some penicillin and some Tylenol before going into the kitchen to talk with Karen as she made dinner.

Dean didn't want to eavesdrop but he couldn't help it. He didn't want Sam to get into trouble for climbing on the cars when he shouldn't have been.

The twelve-year old strained his ears as he listened to Bobby and Karen discuss what had occurred to land Sam in the Emergency room at Sioux Falls General.

"The boys wanted to play Hide-And-Seek," the mechanic began, "An' I suggested they play inside, even though it was such a nice day."

"Then Dean asked to play among the cars in the yard and I tried to tell 'em not to but they said they'd be careful so…" Bobby continued, sounding guilty, "I should have told 'em no. I should have known better."

"What happened? Did Sam trip?" Karen asked and although Dean couldn't see Bobby shake his head, he heard the man sigh.

"I guess he couldn't find a good hiding spot an' decided to climb one of the stack o' cars," Bobby told his wife, "He fell and tore his leg up bad on the way down."

The twelve-year old heard Karen gasp, "Oh my gosh! The poor thing!"

Bobby muttered something too quiet for Dean to hear and then his wife spoke again, "What are we going to do?"

What were they going to do? The boy thought; what did that mean? Were they going to be punished for disobeying Bobby? Dean hadn't thought the Singers would hurt them but maybe he had been wrong.

Or maybe he and Sam would be taken back to the orphanage. Maybe Karen and Bobby wouldn't' want them now. Just like every other family grew tired of them.

Tears welled up in the child's hazel eyes as his mind cluttered with all the horrible possibilities.

It wasn't fair! They couldn't do this again! Sam couldn't do this again! Why did no one want them? They could do better, be better! The Singers just needed to give them a chance!

Dean slipped off the couch and hurried into the kitchen, tears rushing down his face. He ran to Karen and grabbed the front of her shirt, crying like a baby.

"Please don't send us back! We like it here! We'll be good, I promise! We won't ever go near the cars again! Don't hurt us, we'll be good!"

Dean pressed his face against Karen's front, his eyes stinging, his breath coming in wheezes.

"Dean? Honey, what are you talking about? Take you back? Back to the orphanage?" the woman asked, placing two warm hands on the boy's shoulders.

The twelve-year old nodded, "Please don't send us back. Sam won't do it again. We won't get into anymore trouble, honest."

"Oh Sweetie, we're not going to take you back to Kansas," Karen soothed.

"Th-then are we going to be punished?" Dean asked and he was certain Karen saw the fear in his eyes.

"Of course not!" the woman exclaimed aghast at the very idea.

"We think what happened to Sam is punishment enough," Bobby spoke from behind Dean, "You two won't be climbing on those cars again, will ya?"

Still looking up at Karen, Dean shook his head, "No Sir."

The twelve-year old swiped his arm across his nose and began to calm down.

"Here," Karen said and handed the boy a napkin.

Dean wiped his face and nose, starting to feel embarrassed that he'd been wailing like a little kid.

Karen bent down and hugged the twelve-year old tightly; "You don't have to worry about us sending you and Sam back. You're our family now and we don't abandon family."

Dean returned the woman's embrace, feeling better, before giving her a shaky smile and returning to the living room.

Sam sat up a little as his older brother approached the couch, "Hey, Dean."

The older Winchester sat down beside his sibling, "Hey, Sammy. How're you feeling?"

The eight-year old blinked owlishly, still affected by the bump on his head and the painkiller he'd been given.

"Sleepy," he muttered and rested his head on Dean's shoulder.

The twelve-year old smiled and gave his little brother's shoulders a comforting squeeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a song by the Ozark Mountain Daredevils.


	11. Chalk Dust Torture

Sam enjoyed being babied by Karen.

The new mother brought the eight-year old's dinner out to him in the living room and let him watch television while his brother ate in the kitchen with the adults.

After dinner, Sam was allowed as much ice cream as he liked and he put away three heaping bowls before dozing off, lulled to slumber by the food and medications.

As his younger sibling napped, Dean took a seat beside him on the couch and brushed his brother's hair away from his face, gazing down at the unscarred profile.

The twelve-year old looked up as the woman entered the room; drying her hands with a tea towel- she'd coerced Bobby into helping with the dishes- and paused to watch a commercial on television.

Karen's blue eyes widened and Dean instantly tensed.

"School starts on Monday!" the adoptive mother exclaimed and turned to the waking Winchester.

"You're going to need school supplies."

Dean shook his head, "We have them, Ma'am."

The woman frowned, "Are you sure?"

The twelve-year old nodded, "Yup. The orphanage stocks up on stuff for school so we never run out."

Karen nodded, clearly disappointed that she wouldn't be taking the boys back-to-school shopping.

Dean let out a breath. In all the excitement of moving to South Dakota with the Singers, he hadn't realized that he and Sam only had two days until school started up again.

The twelve-year old cringed when his sibling turned in his sleep, exposing the scarred side of his face and neck.

Sam wasn't going to like the idea of going back to school, Dean knew, but maybe, just maybe the kids here would be different. These kids didn't know the Winchesters at all and since Karen and Bobby were nice and kind, than maybe these new kids at school would be too.

Don't count on it, a voice in the back of Dean's mind said.

The twelve-year old ran his fingers through his hair, causing it to stand up on end.

"Is everything alright, Dean?" Karen asked and the boy turned his hazel eyes to her blue ones.

He hadn't noticed she was still in the room with them.

"Uh… it's just," Dean hesitated but then decided that he shouldn't have to, that Karen and Bobby might as well know when Sam came home from school in tears because of the other kids, "Sam doesn't like school all that much."

The woman said nothing; instead she stepped closer to the child, setting down upon the edge of the coffee table- a sturdy piece of furniture that held her weight.

"Back in Kansas," Dean explained, "In the school we were sent to while we were at the Better Days House, the kids weren't so great to Sam."

Karen nodded, her expression somber.

"If anyone picks on Sam- or you- I want you to tell a teacher immediately, okay? No one has a right to do that and any caring adult with help stop it."

Dean nodded and swallowed thickly.

"Okay, Karen," Dean mumbled, "We will."

The woman's expression changed once again and she smiled.

Dean watched as she turned and headed back into the kitchen to finish the dishes.

Sitting back, the twelve-year old grabbed the television remote from where it sat on the cushion beside his sleeping brother and turned the channel.

W

Later that evening, when Dean couldn't keep from yawning anymore and his eyes were almost as droopy as his brother's, Karen announced that both boys should head upstairs.

Sam, still knocked-out from the medicine Dr. Chatsworth had prescribed so Bobby scooped the eight-year old up in his arms in much the same way he had when the child had fallen asleep in the car upon the brothers' arrival to the Singer household.

"Is Sammy going to be okay?" Dean asked Bobby as the burly man carried his sibling up the stairs behind him.

The mechanic nodded, "The doctor wasn't worried about 'im. He should be fine tonight."

The twelve-year old let out a sigh of relief as he reached the landing, turning to the bedroom he shared with Sam to grab his pajamas and go to the bathroom.

Once Dean had changed his clothes and brushed his teeth, he returned to the bedroom to find the Singers had already put Sam to bed, his sibling looking warm and comfortable underneath his Superman blanket, stuffed toys lined up alongside the wall the bunk bed was pressed against in a sort of fluffy squadron of guards.

The twelve-year old bade goodnight to Karen and Bobby, climbed the ladder up to the top bunk and snuggled beneath his Batman covers, exhausted after the day's events.

Karen turned out the light before she and Bobby exited the room but left the door ajar so a sliver of cheerful yellow glow from the hallway lights entered the bedroom.

Dean closed his eyes and let out a couple of deep breaths, glad that his brother hadn't been too badly hurt from his fall and promising himself to stop Sam from doing anything like that in the future, even if the eight-year old tried to wheedle him with his 'puppy eyes'.

SPN

Sam stood at the foot on a teetering tower of broken-down cars. Tilting his head, the eight-year old saw that the vehicles rose hundreds of feet into the air, so high that he was unable to see where it ended.

He knew he must reach the top however. His parents needed him. His mother and father were trapped atop the monolith and only he could rescue them and bring them to safety. John and Mary Winchester were relying on him.

"Don't worry!" He called, "I'm coming!"

Raising a hand, the boy reached out to grip the smashed-in mirror of a Ford Pinto and used it as leverage as he began his ascent, the sun-warmed metal smooth beneath his palm but almost welcoming, offering many a foot and handhold.

Up and up and up, Sam climbed, single-minded in his need to reach his parents.

Up and up and up, Sam climbed, the sun now a large white ball hovering in a washed-out sky, its rays beating down ruthlessly on his head and shoulders, causing sweat to break out on his skin.

Up and up and up, Sam climbed, not daring to look down, seeming to reach no closer to the top even as he moved upwards.

Sweating and panting, arms trembling from the effort of climbing, the eight-year old reached out a clammy hand towards the car just overhead, only to have his fingers close over open air.

Gasping in shock, Sam stared at the smooth, burnished metal obelisk that had replaced the stacked cars. His fingers and toes scraped against slick metal to no avail, there was nothing to hold onto and he began falling backwards.

Sam could no longer see the ground beneath him, it was shrouded in shadows but he knew that it harboured cruel spikes of twisted metal, ready to spear him as soon as he reached the end of his descent.

"Ahhhh!" the boy cried out, helplessly, waiting for the feeling of razor-sharp swords to pierce his body…

W

"Sam? Sammy! Wake up!"

The eight-year old's eyes snapped open and he sat up, breathing harshly.

A presence- his brother- hovered beside him, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"D-D'n," Sam gasped out, trying to control his breathing, realizing that he was safe and warm in his bed in the Singers' house, not falling to certain death.

"It's okay, Sammy," he heard his brother murmur comfortingly in the darkness and the weight of Dean's arm rested on his sibling's shoulders.

The younger Winchester raised his fists and rubbed at his eyes, blinking owlishly. He didn't feel good. His stomach was queasy and his mouth was as dry as a playground sandbox in the middle of July. He felt as though his head was a helium-filled balloon that would pop off his neck at any moment and float up to the ceiling.

Groaning, the eight-year old leaned against his brother.

"Did I get sick?" Sam asked, trying and failing to recall the events of the day.

"Nah," Dean's voice assured him, "We were playing Hide-And-Seek, remember? And you got hurt."

"Oh, yeah," the younger brother muttered though he didn't remember.

"You okay now?" Dean asked and Sam was grateful he didn't ask what the nightmare was about.

The younger sibling shivered and confirmed that he was fine.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"My leg hurts."

SPN

As soon as Dean woke up the next morning he peered down at his sibling from his bunk- after Sam's nightmare he'd waited for his brother to fall asleep again before returning to his own bed- and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the eight-year old exactly as he had left him.

Sitting up and stretching, Dean flung the Batman blankets off and climbed down the ladder to the floor.

"Sam? Hey, Sammy, wake up," the twelve-year old encouraged and shook his sibling's shoulder gently.

The younger Winchester grumbled something unintelligible before opening his green eyes and blinking owlishly.

"D'n?"

Dean smiled, "Who were expecting, Santa Claus?"

Sam frowned in annoyance and sat up slowly, gasping in pain as the movement jarred his injured leg.

"Dean!"

Instantly the older brother took a seat beside his sibling.

"Hey, its okay," he assured Sam, one arm around his shoulders, "You're gonna be okay."

"Wh-Why's my leg hurt so much?" the eight-year old asked in a small voice.

"You fell while we were playing Hide-And-Seek yesterday, remember?"

Sam's frowned deepened, "I… I remember running around the cars… and you counting but… where did I fall from?"

Dean wasn't too worried about his brother's lack of memory- both Dr. Chatsworth and Bobby had explained that Sam may not remember everything that happened before, during or after his accident because of the concussion- and hugged the younger boy comfortingly.

"You were climbing down from a bunch of cars you'd been hiding in," Dean explained, "It was a good spot, I didn't even know you were there; and you slipped."

Sam nodded, looking a bit dazed but Dean continued.

"You cut your leg up pretty badly but the doctor fixed it up."

As though he couldn't take his brother's word for it, the eight-year old lifted his hand, fingers hovering above the red and blue blanket for a moment before moving it aside to reveal his lower leg, wrapped in clean white bandages.

"Sammy, you okay?" Dean asked, growing concerned for his brother when Sam didn't speak.

The eight-year old nodded and shrugged Dean's arm off his shoulders, "I'm hungry."

Taking the hint, the twelve-year old stood up from the bed and made his way to the dresser to get his clothes.

From the corner of his eye, as Dean dressed, he watched Sam scoot to the edge of the mattress before standing, testing his injured leg before deciding that it would hold his weight and making his way- limping slightly- to his own dresser.

Dean smiled. His brother may only be eight but he was tough as nails.

W

As the Winchesters and Singers ate a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and home fries, Karen spoke up, reminding the brothers about the start of school, only two days away.

"I was going to get some groceries," she told them, "Are there any special things you'd like for lunches?"

Both Dean and Sam stopped eating. The twelve-year old swallowed a mouthful of bacon before speaking.

While they lived at the Better Days House all children were given the same bagged lunch by the on-site cook: egg salad or tuna sandwiches, carrot and celery sticks, graham crackers, a juice box and an apple.

While staying with a family, the brothers had made due with whatever their parents thought was suitable- sometimes it was good food and plentiful, and other times they went to class with a package of chips or chocolate bar to eat- and really depended upon the luck of the draw.

"Whatever you think is okay, Ma'am," Dean said and Karen sighed.

"Dean," she replied, "You don't have to call me Ma'am when you think I'm going to be upset."

The boy nodded and his cheeks reddened with embarrassment.

"I'd really like to know what you boys like to eat," she told the brothers, "Remember, this is a first for us too."

Still Dean remained silent, he met Sam's gaze, the eight-year old swallowing compulsively.

"Do you like sandwiches or hot lunches?" Bobby asked and Dean shrugged.

"I'll tell you what, why don't you come to the store with me and you can pick out what you'd like to eat?" Karen offered and after only a moment's hesitation- remembering the trip to the toy store- agreed that it was a good idea.

After breakfast, it was clear that the younger Winchester was not in condition to make a trip into town. His face was drawn and he stood slowly, his limp more pronounced as he brought his dishes to the sink.

"Why don't you stay with Bobby?" Karen suggested as her husband gave the child his pain medication and antibiotic.

Although it was clear that Sam wanted to go with Karen and his brother, as soon as he sat down on the couch, it was also clear he wouldn't be moving again for a while.

Dean felt bad for his sibling and the idea of just telling the woman she could get them what she thought they'd like while he remained behind briefly crossed his mind before deciding that maybe some time with Bobby would help Sam warm up to the man as he had been starting to the day before.

SPN

Karen gripped the shopping cart and surveyed the entrance of the grocery store, a variety of fresh fruits and vegetables greeting them, as the produce section was right in front of the doors.

"Do you want any fruit? Or vegetables?" the new mother asked the twelve-year old and instantly saw the boy's nose wrinkle in distaste.

"Sam does," Dean said quickly, as though that would appease the woman.

"Alright," Karen answered and began wheeling the cart towards the produce section, "Do you know what he likes?"

Dean thought for a moment before pointing at the various fruit, "He likes bananas, and apples, and oranges, and grapes."

Karen gathered the indicated fruits, placing them in the clear plastic bags Dean pulled off the rolls at the ends of the produce displays.

"Is there anything you'd like?" the woman asked and Dean looked down, sheepish.

"I, uh, don't really like this stuff," he muttered.

"Nothing?" Karen asked, surprised, usually even the pickiest eaters like at least one type of fruit.

Dean shook his head.

"Alright," Karen answered and began pushing the cart towards the vegetables.

Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled when she saw the twelve-year old following her, a surprised expression on his face.

Karen gathered two heads of lettuce, a tomato, cucumber, celery, carrots, a bag of potatoes and a bag of onions. Dean followed her, trying not to look revolted at the food items.

"Let's go get some bread and then we can look at the cold cuts in the deli section, how does that sound?" Karen asked the boy and he nodded in agreement.

W

The new mother felt as though the shopping trip had been a success as she pushed the cart across the parking lot. She felt as though she had managed to get enough of a variety to make both boys happy; Dean reluctant at first to pick out any particular lunch item but quickly becoming more comfortable with Karen and soon they had accumulated enough lunch- and snack-foods to last the brothers for at least a month.

SPN

Sam stared at the television for a long time, not really watching anything, simply trying to distract himself from the nagging pain in his leg.

His gaze left the screen, startled, when Bobby entered the living room, a container underneath his arm.

"Ever played Backgammon?" the man asked and Sam shook his head.

"Would you like to learn how?" Bobby asked and sat the container on the coffee table, opening it to reveal a board that folded in half, each half containing six long triangles in an alternating black and white pattern, twelve on each side of the board, facing each other, twenty-four triangles altogether. There were also fifteen black checkers and fifteen white checkers and two small die.

The mechanic set the checkers up on some of the triangles, letting Sam pick which colour he wanted, and then told him which direction he needed to move his pieces in. Bobby explained to the eight-year old that he needed to move all of his pieces from one side of the board to another as fast as possible, before he did. He told the boy that if he landed on a triangle with one of his opponent's checkers, he could knock the piece off and that it would have to start at the beginning. But, Sam couldn't stop on any triangle occupied by more than one of Bobby's checkers, nor could Bobby do that to the boy's.

The television forgotten, the child leaned forward, intrigued by the new game and just as rapidly forgot about the pain in his leg.

W

Sam didn't even bother to look up as the front door opened an hour after Dean and Karen had left to go grocery shopping, so engrossed in the game.

"Hey Squirt!" Dean's voice called from the kitchen, "What's that?"

"Backgammon," Sam replied, sitting up, "Bobby taught me to play. He says its one of the oldest known board games."

"Huh, cool," Dean answered, clearly uninterested and returned to helping Karen with the groceries.

Moments later, as Bobby moved the last of his checkers off the board, Sam smiled at the man.

"Thanks for showing me how to play."

The new father returned the gesture, "No problem. I love the game but Karen is more of a card player so I don't often get a chance to take out the board."

Sam said, "I'd really like to play again."

The mechanic smiled at the sincerity in the eight-year old's voice, "I'd like that too."

SPN

Evening found the two Singers and two Winchesters all seated on the couch, taking in a movie.

Dean and Sam sat side by side, with Karen sitting beside the eight-year old and Bobby beside the twelve-year old.

Anyone peering into the den from the large bay window that night would have seen nothing but a family enjoying their time together, unaware that just a few days ago two states and four hundred and eighty-three miles had separated them.

SPN

A shaft of sunlight found its way past the closed blinds covering the window and landed straight across Sam's face.

Groaning as white light cut through the thin layer of protection his eyelids provided, the eight-year old raised a hand to try and block out the invading sunshine.

It's Sunday!

Sam's eyes snapped open and his heart suddenly skipped a beat. Tomorrow was the first day of school, the first day of the third grade. A knotted ball of nerves formed in the pit of the boy's stomach and he groaned.

"Sammy?" his brother's voice drifted down from the bunk above his, "You awake?"

Sam swallowed before answering, squeaking out the response, "Y-Yeah."

"You okay? Is your leg hurting?"

Again, the eight-year old hesitated.

"Uh huh," he muttered, "Yeah."

"Think you can make it downstairs? We can ask Bobby for some painkillers."

"S'not that bad," Sam told his sibling, "I'll be okay."

"You sure? Dr. Chatsworth gave you those so you wouldn't hurt."

The younger Winchester shook his head, "M'okay."

He listened to the rustle of bedclothes and blankets as Dean sat up in bed and knew that he should be getting up as well.

Sticking his legs out from beneath the sheets, Sam sat up, feet finding the bedroom floor. He looked over at the ladder as his brother descended it, a worried expression on his face.

"Your face is all pale, Sammy. Maybe you should have something."

"I'll be okay," the eight-year old argued. Then, to change the subject, wondered out loud what Karen would make them for breakfast.

"I hope its pancakes again," Sam said as he stood up and made his way to his dresser.

Dean didn't try and press his brother again to take Dr. Chatsworth's pain medicine.

W

Instead of Karen's pancakes for breakfast, the brothers ate cold cereal with Bobby.

Karen, called into work to cover another waitress' shift, apologized to the brothers because she wouldn't be home until late afternoon, kissed them on the head- making Sam grin and blush and Dean smooth out his hair and roll his eyes- before ducking out of the kitchen.

"So," Bobby said as he lifted a mug of coffee to his lips, "You boys wanna play Hide-And-Seek?"

Sam stared at the mechanic, mouth full of cornflakes, not sure if the man was being serious or not.

A second later Bobby lowered the mug of coffee and grimaced, "Sorry, guess that ain't funny."

From beside him, Sam heard Dean snigger and he chuckled weakly.

Raising a fist to his mouth, Bobby cleared his throat, "What would you like to do today? It's the last day of summer vacation and all…"

Sam turned to look at Dean.

"Can we stay here?" Dean asked, "Play inside?"

Bobby, Sam thought, looked a bit disappointed but he nodded and said that that was a good idea.

"I've got to be working on that car in the garage anyway," the mechanic told the brothers.

The rest of breakfast passed in silence, though not an uncomfortable one, until both brothers deposited their dishes in the sink and ran upstairs to their room.

SPN

"Want to play with the Legos?" Sam asked as Dean closed the door partway, leaving it ajar so they would hear if Bobby came back inside and called for them.

"Sure," the twelve-year old shrugged and grabbed one of the Lego sets Karen had bought on their first day with the Singers and began helping Sam assemble it.

SPN

Bobby stepped back from the car and wiped a greasy hand over his sweaty forehead. Glancing at his watch and seeing that it was eleven-thirty, he decided that he could take a break, make some lunch for the boys and then maybe do something fun with them before returning to car. The vehicle was almost completely repaired anyway and would not take long to finish.

Not bothering to clean up, Bobby left the garage and headed back towards the house.

SPN

"What can I get for you?" Karen asked the man whose face the morning paper obscured.

He was sitting at the booth in the far back corner of the diner- not a popular place to sit except to teenagers who liked to make out there- and at first he didn't respond to Karen's question.

After a moment, and just before Karen was about to speak again, the man lowered the paper and smiled at her.

"Just coffee, please," he told Karen and the woman nodded, pouring an amount of the beverage into the cup already sitting on the table from the pot she had brought with her.

"Thank you, Karen," the man said with a smile, picking the cup up and bringing it to his lips.

Karen startled, wondering how the man- whom she had never seen before- knew who she was before remembering her nametag pinned to the chest of her uniform.

"Let me know if I can get anything else for you," she told the man and turned to attend to other customers.

The man watched as Karen walked across the diner, still smiling. Lifting the paper, the man's eyes flashed a sickly yellow colour before he began to pretend read.

So that was the woman who had adopted little Sammy Winchester and his big brother? Azazel thought to himself with amusement.

The demon normally didn't pay much attention to his 'special children' the ones he'd infected with his blood after the deed was done, but Sam Winchester was different. He was the son of a hunter, whereas none of Azazel's other children were, and the demon also wasn't deaf to the rumors circulating in Hell, rumors that told of Apocalypse and Lucifer- their supreme leader- finally freed from his Cage and taking said Winchester as his true vessel.

The demon couldn't help the shudder of disgust that ran through his host's body. He wasn't stupid; he knew that although Lucifer was the undisputed- however chained- ruler of Hell and any demon who took the throne was just a puppet. He also knew that Lucifer was still an angel and he wasn't about to forget what angels thought of demons.

That was why Azazel had decided to take matters into his own hands. He was not waiting for the angels' Apocalypse to happen and eradicate all demons. No, he was going to open a Devil's Gate and let his demonic brothers and sisters free of the confines of Hell and create paradise on earth.

But that would not be for many years. For now, he just had to wait as his blood boiled in the veins of his 'children', patient for the time when it would reveal itself and its fiendish power.

And more than any of the others, the demon was particularly invested in the youngest Winchester, and had a feeling that the boy was going to surprise all of them.

Picking up his mug of coffee, Azazel drained the dark liquid, folded the newspaper neatly and sat it on the table before standing.

Making his way around a couple of tables, the yellow-eyed demon left the diner as though he were a ghost, no one noticing his absence.

SPN

Sam picked at his dinner, moving his tuna casserole around on the plate without eating it.

"Are you feeling alright?" Karen asked concernedly, lifting one hand and reaching for his forehead.

The eight-year old nodded but said nothing.

"He's just nervous about school tomorrow," Dean answered for his brother.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," Karen told the boy but Sam knew she was just saying that to try and make him feel better.

Although she accepted him, looking past his disfiguring scars, not everyone was willing to do that and Sam knew that other kids were the worst, how heartless they could be and they didn't care if they hurt him or not-

"Sam?" Karen spoke up again, jolting him out of his thoughts, "Would you like to talk about it?"

The boy looked up, surprised by the woman's question.

"Uh…" he stammered before Dean jumped in, "Kids can be jerks to him because of his scars."

Karen and Bobby nodded, tight-lipped. The woman looked to her husband.

"I'm sure not everyone is like that," the new mother said, "I'm certain you'll find a friend at the school here."

Sam forced a smile and nodded, scooping up a forkful of casserole and shoving it into his mouth even though he could have felt less like eating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Phish song.


	12. Curses

On Monday morning, Sam woke with a stomachache.

He squeezed his eyes shut and wished school wasn't starting today.

"Boys, up and at 'em," Karen's voice called quietly from the direction of the bedroom door and Sam heard Dean shift in the bunk above his.

"You awake Sammy?" the twelve-year old's voice asked, muffled by his pillow.

"Yeah," Sam replied glumly and opened his eyes, sitting up in bed.

He watched as Dean climbed down the ladder and landed with a jump on the area rug.

"Don't worry, Sammy," the twelve-year old said, laying a hand on his brother's shoulder, "We're gonna stay together all day."

Sam forced a smile for his brother but he still felt as though he was going to throw up.

The eight-year old watched in silence as his brother walked to the dresser and chose his clothes- a pair of blue jeans and a black t-shirt with the yellow Bat Signal on the chest- before pulling them on with more enthusiasm than Sam felt he could muster.

Once Dean was dressed he turned to his sibling, "C'mon Sammy. What do you want to wear? I'll help you pick something out, what d'ya say?"

Sam slowly slid off his bed and made his way over to his brother. Dean opened his dresser drawers and allowed Sam to stare at the clothes inside for a long moment. After some hesitation, the eight-year old picked out a pair of beige corduroy pants and a long-sleeved moss-green shirt with a blue Tyrannosaurus rex on the front.

"Good choice," Dean said and Sam nodded, pulling off his pajamas and exchanging them for the trousers and shirt.

"Hey, maybe the kids here will be nice," Dean suggested and Sam tried hard to smile.

"Not everyone is a jerk," the twelve-year old continued, "Look at Karen and Bobby."

The eight-year old's bellyache quelled a bit and he gave his brother a more genuine smile.

"You're right, Dean," Sam said, "Maybe today will be okay."

The older brother grinned, his hazel eyes crinkling.

"Ready for breakfast?"

W

"You boys have everything you need for school?" Karen asked the Winchesters as they dug into the blueberry pancakes she had made for them.

Dean nodded as he stuffed a large piece of pancake into his mouth.

"We're ready," he spoke after he had swallowed the mouthful.

Sam nodded, gaze lowered to the pancakes and syrup on his plate. He didn't trust himself to speak. He was afraid that if he did, his stomach would start hurting again.

"I'm sorry I can't take you to school," Karen apologized, "But I have to get ready for work. Bobby will take you this morning."

Sam looked up sharply. He had thought Karen was going to drive them to the school.

"Thaffs's otay," Dean said around a mouthful of pancake.

Sam nodded and continued eating. He guessed it didn't matter who drove him and Dean to school as long as they got there.

The eight-year old suddenly looked up as Karen came around beside him and pressed the palm of her hand against his forehead.

"Are you feeling alright, Sweetheart?" the woman asked and Sam nodded.

"Is your leg hurting you?"

Sam glanced down. He had completely forgotten about his leg, too preoccupied with worrying about school.

The eight-year old shook his head.

"I'm okay," Sam insisted and shoveled a chunk of pancake into his mouth to show Karen he still had an appetite.

"Alright," the new mother said uncertainly, "But if you start feeling sick or if your leg hurts too much you tell your teacher and Bobby will come and get you."

Sam promised he would and continued eating, if only to pretend that he wasn't terrified of going to school.

W

Bobby's pickup truck pulled up to the front doors of Sioux Falls Elementary School and stopped.

Sam peered out the window at the kids and their parents milling around, hugging and chatting, waiting for the bell to ring an announce school was back in session.

"Get a move on, Sammy," Dean grumbled and pushed at the younger boy, forcing Sam to open the passenger's side door and hope out of the truck so his sibling could exit.

"C'mon boys," Bobby called as he stepped up onto the sidewalk, "Let's go find the office."

Sam stared up at the school as he, Bobby and Dean approached. It was a tall, hulking structure, made of redbrick, its upper windows wide and dark, like eyes staring out at the children and their families below. Beside the front doors, a grey cement brick stood out among its ruddy fellows, the words 'EST. 1949' carved into it.

Inside, the walls were muted beige, brightened by posters and students' drawings. A display case proudly showed off the achievements of students of Sioux Falls Elementary, past and present. The worn tile floors were a chocolate brown, worn grey in places where foot-traffic was the greatest.

Bobby turned a sharp right and opened an old, wooden door with a small brass plaque underneath a pebbled glass window, which read 'OFFICE'. He ushered the boys inside.

Sam saw that the office was small, with a large oak receptionist's desk and four chairs upholstered in blue cloth sitting along one wall. Unlike the hallway, the office floor was covered in an industrial-grade grey carpet. Behind the receptionists' desk was a wooden door that was an exact copy of the one marked 'OFFICE' except that the plaque read 'PRINCIPAL ALLEN'.

Bobby walked up to the receptionist and spoke to her for a few moments while Dean slumped into one of the chairs, legs splayed out before him and Sam remained standing nervously beside his adoptive father.

Sam peered around the oak desk when the door to the principal's office opened and a thin man with short, white hair and bulging brown eyes stepped into the room. He was wearing neatly pressed khaki trousers and a powder blue golf shirt.

"Hello!" he greeted, "I'm Principal Allen."

Sam bowed his head, hiding his face as the man shook Bobby's hand before laying his hands on his knees and peering down at him.

"Your name's Sam, isn't it?" the man asked and the eight-year old nodded.

"And you must be Dean!" Principal Allen turned his attention towards Dean and Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, Mr. Singer, all we have to do is fill out a couple of more forms and then everything will be set," Principal Allen said and Bobby looked down at Sam.

"You'll be okay here for a minute or two?"

The boy nodded and quickly took a seat in a chair next to his brother. He watched silently as Bobby followed the principal into his office and the door closed behind them.

The eight-year old nudged his brother, "Dean, how did he know our names?"

The twelve-year old rolled his eyes; "Bobby and Karen talked to him on the phone, Squirt. It's not like he's psychic or something."

"Oh," Sam replied.

He glanced again around the room and froze when he noticed that the lady behind the desk- a middle-aged woman with grey-streaked blonde hair and tasteful makeup- was staring at him.

Realizing that Sam saw her gawking, the receptionist returned her gaze to her computer, picking up the phone when it rang once.

The principal's door opened and Bobby and Principal Allen stepped out.

The new father approached his boys and looked rather uncomfortable, as though he wasn't sure what to say.

"Well, uh," he stammered, "Have a good day. Karen or I will be here to pick you up at the end of the day."

Sam shot off his chair and wrapped his thin arms around the mechanic, his face buried against Bobby's chest.

"Can I come home with you?" he muttered.

"Sorry son," Bobby murmured, one hand on Sam's back, "You've got to go to school."

The eight-year old sighed. He knew he couldn't get out of this either.

"Dean will be with you," Bobby assured him and held Sam at arm's length.

The boy nodded and peered over his shoulder at his sibling.

"There's nothing to be worried about, Sam," Principal Allen piped up jovially, "Everyone here is very friendly. You'll love it Sioux Falls Elementary."

Sam nodded and reached out to take his brother's hand.

"Edna, I'm going to show the boys to their classes," Principal Allen told the receptionist and she nodded.

"Come along boys!" Principal Allen exclaimed and opened the door into the hallway.

Leaving Bobby at the entrance to the school and following the principal, Sam walked close beside Dean, his hand gripping his brother's tightly.

They passed two bathrooms, one for girls and one for boys, before heading down the hallway. There were doors on either side, two for each grade, beginning with the third grade and descending backwards to the first as they walked further into the school. At the very end of the hall was one classroom for the Kindergarten children and across from that… an empty room. Or what Sam guessed was an empty room. Unlike the other doors, the pebbled glass window in this door was covered with a piece of paper and the light appeared to be off. Its plaque had been sanded so that Sam had no idea who or what might have been inside.

Beside the kindergarten room, the hallway took a left, creating a sort of 'L' shape and Principal Allen showed the Winchesters where the custodian's office was, the gymnasium and the staircase that led up to the second floor where the students in grades four through eight learned.

Turning around, Principal Allen led Sam and Dean back towards the front of the building, back to the third grade classes.

Stepping up to one of the doors on the right- its plaque read '3B'- Principal Allen rapped sharply on the frame. Sam saw that the door had a homemade poster taped to it with photographs of twenty-five smiling boys and girls on it- Sam's classmates- and the eight-year old felt slightly better upon seeing those happy faces. Surely one of those kids would want to be his friend.

The door opened and a woman in her thirties, with long black hair held up in a bun, blue eyes and olive skin answered the door.

"Principal Allen," she said, "This must be Sam."

The eight-year old hid his face like a toddler and squeezed Dean's hand.

"Hi Sam, my name is Mrs. Marquis," the teacher greeted.

The boy peeked out at the woman and saw her eyes widen slightly but she continued to smile.

RING-RING-RING-RING!

Sam jumped as the bell blared through the hallways, announcing the beginning of the school day.

"Okay Shrimp," Dean said and began pulling Sam away, "I'll see you at recess, yeah?"

The eight-year old allowed his brother to push him gently away, not wanting to act like a baby in front of his new teacher or classmates.

"Bye Dean," Sam muttered and watched as Principal Allen and Dean walked past, towards the stairs.

"Come on, Sam," Mrs. Marquis, "You can put your backpack and coat in here."

The teacher held out her hand and Sam took it hesitantly.

Stepping into the classroom, Sam saw there was a row of coat hooks along the back wall and walked over to them just as the other children began entering the room.

Picking a hook at the end of the row, Sam quickly put his backpack up and unzipped his jacket, shrugging out of the garment and placing it beside his bag. Next, he opened his bag and took out a notebook and pencil case.

Standing with his back to his classmates, Sam reached up and yanked his long bangs down so that they covered the side of his face.

"Okay class! Let's go! To your desks! Pick any one you like!" Mrs. Marquis called and Sam held his breath, waiting until the other students had left the coat area before making his way towards the desks.

Luck seemed to shine on him and he saw a desk at the very back, just a few steps away from where his coat and backpack hung.

Falling into the seat, Sam arranged his notebook and pencil case inside the hollow beneath the desk, waiting for the announcements to begin.

The eight-year old stood up with his classmates as the Pledge of Allegiance sounded over the PA system before listening despondently to the school-related speeches that followed- Principal Allen's greeting to returning and new staff and students, reminders of playground safety and an invitation to children in grades three through eight to sign up for floor hockey, soccer, volleyball or basketball- until he heard his new teacher speak.

"We have a new student with us this year," Mrs. Marquis announced, quieting the class, "And I'd like to introduce him."

Sam slid down in his seat, trying to sink into the construction of wood and metal.

Mrs. Marquis beckoned to the eight-year old with a hand, smiling.

"Don't be shy," the third grade teacher said and now a number of the students were turning in their seats to look at Sam.

Shifting to the side, the younger Winchester left his seat and made his way to the front of the class, his stomach aching with nerves and his palms sweaty.

Once he stood beside Mrs. Marquis, Sam stared at his classmates carefully, taking in the expressions on their faces- fear, disgust, curiosity- and wished he could just go home with Bobby and Karen.

"This is Sam Winchester," Mrs. Marquis said, "He's come all the way from Kansas."

"Hi Sam," the class chorused rather unenthusiastically.

"Does anyone have any questions for Sam?" the third grade teacher asked and the eight-year old felt his stomach flip flop dangerously.

A girl with curly red hair and freckles raised her hand.

"Tara?" Mrs. Marquis said and smiled encouragingly.

"What's wrong with your face?"

Sam's heart skipped a beat and he glanced down.

"Why don't I ask a question?" the teacher suggested, "Sam, what's your favourite TV show?"

For a moment, the eight-year old didn't speak but then he muttered that he didn't like watching television.

"That's okay," Mrs. Marquis, who apparently had superpower hearing, answered, "Everyone likes different things. Do you like to read?"

The eight-year old nodded mutely. Mrs. Marquis smiled, "I like to read too."

Next, the teacher returned her attention to the other students.

"Does anyone have any other questions for Sam?" she asked the class.

"What happened to your face?" a pudgy boy with buzz cut asked.

"Bryce!" Mrs. Marquis snapped, "We are not going to ask those questions."

The class seemed to give a collective, silent groan of disappointment. The teacher seemed to realize that she wasn't going to get anywhere with having her students ask Sam their most burning questions about himself so she let him go back to his desk and began a lesson.

As Sam made his way to the back of the classroom, he heard his classmates whispering to one another.

He couldn't hear much of what they were saying but a few choice words made their way into his ears.

"Freak"… "Weirdo"… "Monster"…

Slumping down into his seat, Sam didn't even hear what Mrs. Marquis was saying as his eyes pricked with tears and his stomach cramped from nerves.

SPN

Dean liked Mr. Powell, seventh grade teacher, right away. The seventh-grade teacher didn't dress like any other teacher the twelve-year old had met. Instead of slacks and a dress shirt, Mr. Powell chose a pair of dark-wash denim jeans, blue running shoes and a Black Sabbath t-shirt. Mr. Powell also had a short-cropped black beard and hair that was stylishly tousled.

As Dean stepped into the classroom, he noticed that the seventh-grade teacher was sitting on top of his desk, one foot braced against the floor for balance while the other was lifted slightly to make him look comfortable and casual.

"Mornin' Principal Allen," Mr. Powell greeted and slid off his desk.

"This is Dean," the principal said, ignoring the teacher's greeting, something the twelve-year old noticed, "He and his brother are new here."

Mr. Powell looked down at the boy and smiled.

Dean returned the teacher's expression and reached out to shake Mr. Powell's hand.

RING-RING-RING-RING!

Principal Allen bade his goodbyes and headed back to his office.

"Sit anywhere you like, Dean," Mr. Powell told Dean and the twelve-year old made his way towards the back of the classroom, dumping his backpack and jacket onto the floor beside the desk.

Mr. Powell took his previous perch on his desk and seconds later twenty-eight more twelve-year olds streamed into the room, laughing and shouting and chatting.

Almost instantly Dean received curious glances and he smiled in a friendly, open way. He had always made friends easily and was generally well liked by his classmates, despite the fact that he rarely spent time with them during recess, staying close to his brother whenever they were in school.

"Alright," Mr. Powell said in a loud voice, "I'm sure you're all dying to know what everyone did over the summer, but it's September now and nobody cares what you did for a whole two months while I was busting my butt getting ready for school."

Dean looked up, confused and a bit startled by the teacher's tone- no teacher he had ever had ever talked like that- but then Mr. Powell gave the class a wry smile and the boy's fellow pupils laughed. Clearly they were used to Mr. Powell's use of sarcasm.

"Also, we have a new student," Mr. Powell announced, "And instead of embarrassing him by getting him to stand up in front of all of you guys and girls, I will just let you bombard him with questions during recess."

Dean gave a sigh of relief. He was sure he was going to like Mr. Powell a lot.

SPN

Sam didn't even hear what Mrs. Marquis was saying about the signing of the Declaration of Independence, all he could think about was the kids around him who already hated him and wouldn't be his friends.

Maybe if he said he wasn't feeling well, if he said he was sick, then the receptionist lady at the office would call Bobby and he'd get to go home.

Leaning down, the eight-year old rubbed at his jean-clad knee, wondering if he would be sent home if he said his leg was hurting him too much.

"Sam? Are you alright?"

The boy looked up suddenly at the sound of the teacher's voice and he felt his face grow hot with embarrassment.

Many of the children in the desk around him turned around to stare, a couple of them sniggering behind their hands, and Sam dropped his gaze to the top of his desk.

"Is anything wrong?" Mrs. Marquis asked and Sam shook his head without a word.

After a moment or two, the third-grade teacher continued her lesson about Thomas Jefferson and the other Founding Fathers.

W

Sam remained where he was for a few moments after Mrs. Marquis told the students to put their books and pencils away and to get their lunch bags for snack. As the rest of the boys and girls in the class rushed to the back of the room, laughing and chatting, Sam stayed in his seat.

"Sam? Are you going to eat a snack?"

The eight-year old looked up to see his new teacher leaning down beside his desk.

"Uh…yeah, sure," the boy muttered and slid out of his chair away from Mrs. Marquis.

He could feel the woman's eyes on his back as he walked the few steps to the back of the classroom and dug his lunch bag from his backpack.

The lunch bag, an old one that he had had since forever, was red and blue with picture of Superman flying over a cartoon city on the front. Gripping the zipper, Sam opened the bag and saw that Karen had packed him a ham and cheese sandwich, an apple, a miniature box of raisins, a granola bar and a pudding cup with a spoon. For never having packed a kid's lunch before, the eight-year old thought Karen had done a good job.

Deciding on the apple, Sam closed his lunch bag and shoved it to one side of his desk, biting into the piece of fruit.

"Hey," a voice directly in front of Sam called and he looked up, still chewing on a piece of apple, to see a boy with pale skin, prominent freckles, jet-black hair and light blue eyes staring at him.

Sam didn't respond for a minute- it was rude to talk with food in your mouth- but met the boy's gaze regardless.

"What's with your face?" the boy asked and the half-chewed apple stuck in Sam's throat.

The eight-year old swallowed a couple of times before the lump in his throat disappeared and he answered, trying to sound tough, "Nothing. What's with yours?"

The other boy blinked for a moment before glaring at Sam.

"At least I don't look like the guy from freakin' 'Nightmare on Elm Street'," the black-haired boy hissed and turned around in his seat to talk to Bryce, whose desk was sitting diagonally in front of his.

Sam ate the rest of his apple in silence, trying to ignore the not-so-quiet whispering of his classmates and block out their cruel words.

"Freak."

"Weirdo."

"Ugly."

"Freddy Krueger."

W

Sam slunk out of the classroom as soon as the bell rang to go outside for recess; he walked ahead of the other third-graders, hurrying outside.

Pausing just outside the large double doors at the end of the hallway, between the one used and one unused Kindergarten classrooms, Sam tugged at his bangs to try and cover the scarred side of his face as he searched the playground for his brother.

Green eyes searching the large open field, Sam saw there was a soccer field where boys and girls of multiple grades were already kicking a ball around, a baseball diamond in the far left corner of the yard and a line of trees that bordered the entire yard, acting as a natural wind-break and fence.

"Hey! Over here! Pass it to me!"

The eight-year old looked to the sound of his brother's voice and saw Dean playing basketball a few feet away from him on the asphalt.

Sam watched for a long time as his sibling, ran and jumped, dribbling, passing and shooting the basketball with a group of boys who were clearly his classmates. All the while Dean had a huge grin on his face.

The eight-year old was tempted to go to his brother and draw him away from his game but his legs wouldn't move.

Dean's having fun, Sam thought, he looks like he's made friends.

The younger Winchester felt tears prickle his eyes suddenly. Dean had never really had any friends either. It wasn't only Sam who had been ostracized by his peers; Dean had always stuck with him instead of playing with kids his own age.

Sam felt the tears in his eyes well up. He wanted Dean to be with him, like he always was.

"Dean," the boy called out weakly.

The eight-year old's legs became jelly and buckled at the knees. Sam slid down the school's redbrick wall and sat on the worn pavement.

He forced a smile. Dean looked so happy, playing basketball with his classmates. Sam didn't need to hanging onto him like a baby.

Sighing, the younger Winchester wrapped his arms around his middle and watched his brother play with his new friends.

SPN

As Karen Singer wiped a cloth over one of the diner's tables, its occupants having just finished their meal and left a generous tip, she couldn't help but wonder how Sam and Dean were doing in school.

She couldn't help but think about Dean telling her how kids mean kids sometimes were to his brother and hoped that the children in Sam's class were different.

Karen wished she could be there with both boys, to make sure they liked their teachers and classmates and felt accepted but that was impossible. She just had to wait until the boys came home tonight.

Sighing, the woman turned around and came face-to-face with the man who had vanished, ghost-like from the restaurant the day before. Karen let out a little scream of surprise, one hand going to her chest.

"I'm sorry," the man apologized, "I didn't mean to scare you. I was wondering if I could have a coffee?"

"Yes," Karen replied once her heart had stopped pounding in her chest, "Yes, of course, I'll get that for you as soon as I can."

"Thank you," the man smiled and slid into the seat at the table Karen had just been cleaning.

SPN

RING-RING-RING-RING

Sam was one of the last of the children to head into the school as the bell rang. He didn't try to catch up with Dean, who was laughing and chatting away with the boys he'd been playing ball with, almost running inside.

As Sam made his slow way inside, shuffling his feet, he told himself that it was just the first day and of course the other kids were going to be curious about him- wasn't he curious about them- and that tomorrow they'd have forgotten all about the cruel names they had started calling him.

Entering Mrs. Marquis' third-grade classroom, Sam saw that most of the other kids were already seated at their desks. Head down, the younger Winchester stepped quickly inside, walking directly to the back of the room to his backpack, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the hook.

Mrs. Marquis waited until he was sitting at his desk to begin her lesson but didn't mention Sam's lateness and for that he was grateful.

SPN

Dean sat at his desk, chuckling at a joke his new friend Corey had just told him. He had made quiet a few friends in the class already besides Corey, a small, wiry boy with pale blond hair and large brown eyes.

There was also Jerome, Aiden, Mark and Glenn. They had asked Dean if he'd wanted to join their basketball game during recess so they could play three-on-three. The older Winchester had accepted right away and the boys quickly became fast friends.

As the eldest Winchester settled down and tried to listen to Mr. Powell, his thoughts turned away from his new acquaintances to his brother. Dean frowned; he didn't remember seeing Sam at all during recess and he'd thought for sure his sibling would seek him out.

Maybe Sammy's made some friends of his own, the twelve-year old thought and smiled; it would be good for his brother to hang out with kids his own age.

SPN

Karen poured the man who'd unintentionally frightened her a third cup of coffee and returned his smile when he offered her the gesture.

"Can I get you anything else?" she asked him, "We have the best chicken Club sandwiches in town, and our pie isn't bad either."

The man appeared to think for a long moment before he nodded, "That sounds good. I think I'll try that."

"You won't be disappointed," Karen assured the man and left to go let the cook know about the order.

SPN

"Sam? Sam, are you alright?"

Mrs. Marquis' voice roused the eight-year old out of his daze and he glanced around, his cheeks going red with embarrassment and his ears burning with the snickering of his classmates.

"I… uh… I'm fine," Sam muttered in a barely audible voice.

"Would you like to go to the Nurses' Office?" his teacher asked and Sam shook his head.

"Okay," Mrs. Marquis said, looking as though she didn't believe Sam and really thought he should see the nurse but she didn't say anything else and continued with her math lesson.

Sam returned his gaze to the clock above the chalkboard, his eyes following the hands as they slowly counted down the end of the school day.

SPN

"Did you enjoy?" Karen asked the man as he sat back, the saucer in front of him only holding the crumbs of what had been a large slice of strawberry-rhubarb pie with vanilla ice cream.

"It was better than you said it would be," the man told Karen.

"And the sandwich?" she asked.

"You were right, the best in town," the man said and began patting his pockets, looking for his wallet.

"Here," he said as he pulled out a twenty dollar bill and handed it to Karen.

"This is too much-" she began but the man shook his head, "Keep the change, Karen."

The woman nodded and stood back to let the man stand up.

"And you take care of those two little boys," he continued, causing Karen to frown in confusion.

She didn't recall telling the man anything about Sam and Dean, she didn't think she'd told the man anything about her personal life; they'd only chatted about the weather and the news, the usual small talk she engaged every customer in.

Before Karen could stop the man and ask him how he knew about her sons, she stared around in amazement. The man was gone.

SPN

"Watch where you're going, Freak," Bryce snarled as he shoved Sam out of the way as they moved among the throng of their classmates to the back of the class when the bell for lunch rang.

Sam, his injured leg smarting from being twisted as he was pushed, tried to blink the tears from his eyes as he grabbed his lunch bag from his backpack.

Returning to his desk, Sam sat and unzipped his lunch bag, pulling out his sandwich and tearing off the wax paper it had been wrapped in. Taking a large bite, Sam chewed the ham and cheese despondently, the sandwich utterly tasteless.

As the eight-year old worked his way steadily through his lunch, he decided that he would complain about some pain- a headache, a stomachache or even his leg- and ask to go to see the nurse. He would at least be away from his classmates for a while and if he was lucky maybe he could convince Principal Allen to call Bobby.

When the bell rang to go outside, Sam didn't even stop to see where Dean was, he just walked out into the playground, past the soccer field and baseball diamond, towards the line of trees that bordered the yard.

The line of trees was more than a line, it was a long copse, a small wooded area and Sam easily slipped between the trunks, vanishing from sight of the playground.

He walked along inside the small forest for a few moments, watching the shadows of the leaves on the ground before he stopped and stared up at the large oak tree in front of him. It was tall but there were a number of branches low to the ground. Raising his hands above his head, Sam jumped and grabbed onto a low branch. Hanging there for a moment, the eight-year old savoured the feeling of his toes dangling in mid-air, the not unpleasant strain on his shoulders, and the distant sound of kids playing.

Then, Sam swung his body and raised his legs, hooking his ankles around the branch and pulling himself up. Now, hanging like a sloth, Sam rolled his body until he was sitting upright and he leaned back against the oak's trunk, legs dangling on either side of the branch.

"Hey, kid!"

Sam startled, hands gripping the rough branch like claws and tilted his head upwards to see who had called him.

It was a boy; maybe in grade seven or eight, with light brown hair that covered his ears and hazel eyes. He was wearing a pair of brown lace up shoes, blue jeans and a white and mustard yellow striped t-shirt.

"Uhhh," Sam stammered, not sure what to say to the older boy.

"What's your name, Clyde?" the boy asked.

"Sam," Sam answered quietly, "Sam Winchester."

The boy smiled, "Billy Jenkins."

The eight-year old still hesitated, "I'll go…"

"Stay," Billy said, "You're not a spaz are you?"

Sam hesitated for a moment before shaking his head, "I don't think so."

The older boy smiled, "Cool."

It took a minute for the child to realize it, but Billy Jenkins hadn't yet asked him anything about his face. Sam wondered if it was just that the older boy couldn't see his scars but it was nice to talk to another kid, even if it was only for a little bit.

"You're new here, aren't ya?" Billy asked and Sam nodded.

"Today's my first day," the eight-year old replied.

"How come you ain't hanging with the rest of those nosebleeds?" Billy asked, pointing his chin in the direction of the schoolyard.

Sam fidgeted for a moment, trying to find out what to say. He needn't have worried because the older boy spoke again.

"Hey, don't sweat it, Clyde. I wasn't trying to be nosy."

Sam nodded and smiled up at Billy. Even though the older boy talked kind of strange, he liked him. Maybe it was the way they all talked wherever Billy was from. Maybe he was new to Sioux Falls just like him.

The eight-grader smiled down at Sam, showing teeth…

W

The younger Winchester reluctantly left the copse of trees when he heard the bell ring to announce the end of recess.

"C'mon Billy," Sam called as he jumped down from his perch and landed with both feet on the leaf-strewn ground below.

"I'll catch up," Billy told him, not moving from the branch he was sitting on.

"Oh-Okay," Sam replied.

"See you back here next time," the older boy promised and Sam nodded, turning and running away towards the school.

W

Back in the classroom, Sam found himself actually able to take in what his teacher was saying and although he didn't raise his hand to answer any of the questions she posed to the third-graders, the eight-year old felt as though he might just be able to get through the rest of the day.

SPN

Dean loitered outside of Mrs. Marquis' classroom after the bell had rung, waiting for his brother.

Sam was one of the last to exit the room and when he did, Dean was pleased to see a large smile on his face.

"How're you feeling, Squirt? Did you have a good day?" the twelve-year old asked and placed an arm over his brother's shoulders as they headed down the hall.

"Great!" Sam told Dean, "I think I'm gonna like it here."

The older brother smiled, his sibling's happiness was infectious.

"Me too," Dean agreed, "Did you make lots of friends?"

For the first time since picking Sam up, his brother's smile faltered.

"Well… no," the eight-year old muttered.

"What?" Dean stopped walking and held his brother at arm's length by the shoulders, "Sammy, what happened?"

The eight-year old glanced down at his sneakers.

"The kids in class," Sam sniffed, "They don't like me."

Dean grimaced, "They just need some time to get to know you."

The younger Winchester shook his head, "No. They don't like me, they'll never like me."

"You don't-" Dean began, refusing to believe that all kids, everywhere, in every school were assholes who never looked past his brother's scars.

Sam's head snapped up and his green eyes bore into Dean's hazel ones fiercely, "They hate me! They call me names! Just like all the others did!"

The twelve-year old was a bit taken aback by the ferocity in his brother's voice but said nothing. Instead, he simply nodded and one again slipped a comforting arm across his sibling's shoulders, steering him towards the front doors.

After about a minute or two of silence, Sam spoke again.

"I did make one friend."

"Yeah?" Dean replied quietly.

Sam nodded, "His name's Billy."

Dean's smile returned, though not as wide as it had been before, "That's good, Sammy."

W

The drive back home in Bobby's truck was relatively quiet. Dean wanted to talk about his day but had an idea that Karen would want to hear about it too so he decided to wait until they were all together.

W

That evening, over a dinner of roasted chicken drumsticks, mashed potatoes and broccoli, the Winchesters told the Singers all about their first day at Sioux Falls Elementary.

Dean was eager to tell Bobby and Karen all about his cool teacher, Mr. Powell, and how he was unlike any teacher the eldest Winchester had ever known.

"He's really funny and dresses like a kid," the twelve-year old told them, "And he didn't make me stand up in front of the whole class and talk about myself either. I hate it when teachers want to do that."

Next, Dean talked about his new friends and the basketball games they had played during recess and how Aiden was having a birthday party in a few weeks and had asked if he wanted to come.

"I don't see why not," Karen said, "As long as it's alright with his parents, of course."

Dean couldn't believe it; he'd never been to a real birthday party, not really. The Better Days Home always had a little celebration for kids on their birthdays; they were given a cupcake for dessert after dinner and there was a little party with streamers and hats and games in the Recreation Room.

"Sam?" Karen asked, turning now to the younger Winchester.

Dean turned to his brother as well, wanting to know exactly what the kids in his class had said to him.

"Did you make any friends from your class?" Karen pressed and Dean could see his brother's face grow pale.

The eight-year old shook his head.

"Oh Sweetie," the woman began but was interrupted by the child.

"I'm used to it," he told her, clearly trying not to sound as hurt by the other children as he really was. Dean could see that even though Sam was used to it, that didn't mean it got any easier.

"Well, maybe they just need some time to get to know you," Karen suggested and Dean nodded, "That's what I told him."

"Do you like yer teacher?" Bobby asked and Sam shrugged, "Mrs. Marquis is okay."

Dean saw the Singers exchanged concerned glances and quickly spoke up, "Tell them about that friend you made, Squirt. What was his name… Bucky?"

The eight-year old shook his head, "It's Billy."

That caught Bobby and Karen's attention.

"You made a friend?" Karen asked and Sam nodded, "Yeah, he's cool. He knows lots of stuff about the town and he likes to climb trees like I do!"

The new parents relaxed noticeably and Dean smiled.

SPN

Sam woke up early Tuesday morning, even before Karen had knocked on the bedroom door and quietly climbed out of bed. He crept to his dresser and picked out a pair of blue jeans and a red-and-blue Superman t-shirt.

Just as he was finishing getting dressed, Karen poked her head into the room, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of Sam up already.

"Dean, up and at 'em," the new mother called to the eldest Winchester quietly and beckoned to Sam with one hand.

The eight-year old followed her downstairs.

"I have a bit of time before I have to head into work so I thought I'd make you boys breakfast," she said as she and Sam descended the staircase to the main floor.

"Can we have pancakes?" the boy asked and Karen smiled, "Of course."

Sam grinned and hurried into the kitchen ahead of Karen.

"I guess your leg's feeling better?" she asked when she entered the room to find Sam already standing at the stove, eager to start helping with breakfast.

"You're certainly in a happy mood this morning," Karen observed as she began to gather the ingredients for pancakes and put them on the counter.

"Billy's gonna be at school today," Sam told her and although the new mother smiled she felt a twinge of concern.

"Why don't you try and make friends with the other children in your class?"

Sam's eyes went wide as he stared at her.

"They don't like me," he said quietly.

"Billy likes you," Karen reminded him, "Maybe if you talk to the boys and girls in your class, they'll get to know you better."

Sam frowned, "They don't want to know me. They don't like me. They call me names."

"Did you tell your teacher?" Karen asked, now worried about bullies.

Sam shrugged, "That won't stop 'em. It never does."

"Sam," Karen said his name and reached out to lift his chin, "They can't do that. You need to tell your teacher."

The eight-year old jerked his head away and stepped back from the stove.

"If I tell Mrs. Marquis it'll make things worse!" he exclaimed, "Why do I need to be their friend anyway? I have Billy!"

"But-" Karen began but was cut off as Sam ran out of the kitchen and she heard the front door slam shut behind the eight-year old.

"Sam!" she called after the child but received no response.

W

Sam ran down to the end of the driveway, just inside the fence that bordered Singer Salvage, regretting leaving without shoes. His toes were quickly growing cold and the gravel was digging into the soles of his feet.

He knew Karen was just trying to help but he didn't want her to, not with this. He knew the kids in his class were never going to change their minds and suddenly be his friend if he started talking to them. In reality, it would probably only make things worse.

Sure, Billy was older but what was wrong with having an older kid as a friend? Dean, as well as his brother, was also Sam's best friend and he was older.

"Sam? Sammy? What are you doing out here?" Dean's voice floated out towards Sam as the twelve-year old made his way down the driveway towards him.

"Karen said you were talking and then you started getting angry about the kids in your class," Dean began and Sam nodded.

"They call me names, Dean. They called me a freak, and a weirdo and said I was ugly and called me Freddy Krueger."

The twelve-year old didn't respond so Sam turned around to face him.

Dean was standing a few feet away from him, his hands clenched into fists and a livid expression on his face.

"Those little punks!" Dean snarled, "I'll rip their lungs out!"

"They wouldn't be my friend if you paid them," Sam muttered, "They hated me as soon as they saw me. And all Karen can think is that if I talk to them, that'll change."

He saw his brother calming down and waited for Dean to say something else in his defense, say that he didn't need those twerps and that having one friend was better than having a hundred but Dean didn't.

Instead, he sided with Karen, "They just met you, Squirt, and, did you even try to talk to them yesterday?"

The way Dean asked the question told Sam he knew him like a book and knew he hadn't even attempted to talk to any of his classmates once he'd sensed their animosity.

"No," Sam muttered.

"Well, maybe if you did," Dean began, "They'd see you the way I do… the way Karen does and Bobby does."

Sam's face screwed up. He didn't really want to talk to those kids. Not now.

"Listen, would you just try? For Karen? Try to talk to some of those kids today and maybe it'll be different," Dean said and Sam stared at him, shocked.

"I thought they were punks," he said.

Dean sighed, "Maybe they are… but you'll never know for sure if you don't try and get to know them."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. Dean's idea was stupid. Why would he now want to try and be friends with kids who had made fun of him only yesterday?

"Please, Sammy?" Dean asked, "Maybe they were just as scared of you yesterday as you were of them."

Sam felt tears well up in his eyes at the words and suddenly Dean was hugging him, realizing he'd said the wrong thing, that the words hadn't come out as he meant to.

"You know what I meant, Sammy, right?" Dean asked and Sam nodded, his head against his brother's chest.

"Let's go and get some breakfast," the twelve-year old suggested, "Or Karen's gonna think we ran away."

W

Just talk to them, Sam thought as he and Dean were dropped off in front of Sioux Falls Elementary a half hour later, maybe Karen's right and all I need to do is talk to them.

Walking around to the back of the school with Dean, Sam searched the growing crowd of children for any of his classmates.

Suddenly he spied Tara, the girl with curly red hair and freckles standing with three other girls from class whose names he didn't recall.

Sam took a deep breath, yanked down his bangs to cover the scarred side of his face and headed straight towards his classmates.

Once he was close enough, he called out a friendly, 'hello!' and waved at them.

Tara and the other girls looked around for a moment before their eyes settled on him; they giggled something to each other that he couldn't hear before scattering into the larger crowd.

Sam tried to keep the smile on his face when Tara reappeared seconds later with Bryce and the boy with black hair who'd likened him to villain of Wes Craven's 'Nightmare on Elm Street' films the day before.

Bryce, taking the lead, stepped right up to Sam.

"Who said you could talk to us?" he asked the young Winchester, standing right in the smaller boy's personal space.

"I…uh… I was…" Sam stammered, making Tara and the black-haired boy giggle from behind Bryce.

"Uh…uh…uh…" Bryce mocked, "If you ever try to talk to us again, I'll knock you out."

Raising his hands, the larger boy shoved Sam, causing him to stumble backwards; into an older student who responded by pushing the eight-year old the other way and making him fall.

Cackling like hyenas, Bryce, Tara and the boy with black-hair melted back into the crowd.

Sam didn't move from the ground right away. His leg was hurting and he didn't think he could get up.

No one noticed- or cared- that he was sitting on the pavement and he went ignored, struggling to keep from crying.

Slowly, struggling to his feet, Sam lifted his head only enough to see the other children's faces and he searched for Billy unsuccessfully until the bell rang.

SPN

Dean met up with his friends as soon as he reached the back of the school.

"Did you ask?" Aiden wanted to know instantly.

Dean nodded, "As long as your Mom's okay with it."

His new friend grinned, "She said I could invite anyone I wanted."

"Cool," Dean commented and the group of boys headed towards the basketball court, Jerome holding the red, white and blue ball he'd brought from home.

SPN

"Billy! Billy?" Sam called out to his friend, searching the copse of trees for the eighth-grader, "Are you here?"

As soon as the bell for first recess had rung, Sam had torn out of the classroom and down the hallway, one of the first children outside and dashed towards the little woods before a teacher could see him- he had an idea that they really weren't supposed to be there- in search of the older boy.

Sam's shoulders slumped when he received no reply. Billy wasn't here. That or he didn't want to talk to Sam anymore.

"BOO!"

Sam shrieked at the touch of a cold hand at the back of his neck and whipped around to see Billy standing behind him, a Cheshire cat grin on his face.

"I told you I'd be here," the older boy reminded him, "Didn't I, Clyde?"

Sam nodded, not daring to speak as his heartbeat returned to a normal pace.

"I didn't see you this morning before school," Sam said, "You weren't in the yard."

Billy said nothing. He reached up and pulled himself into the same oak Sam had climbed the day before, climbing higher and higher quickly, seeming as though he had spent all his life in the trees.

The eight-year old followed, stopping at the very branch he'd rested on the previous day and leaned his back against the oak's sturdy trunk.

Tilting his head up, Sam searched the leaves for a sign of his friend but couldn't see him. Billy must have been very high up.

Lowering his gaze, the eight-year old jumped when he came face-to-face with the older boy. How had Billy managed to get down to his branch without him knowing?

Sam was about to speak when Billy slapped an ice-cold hand over his mouth and leaned forward, until his forehead touched the eight-year old's.

Sam's eyelids drooped as though he was tired and his body went slack, only the oak's trunk preventing him from falling over the edge of the branch.

After a moment or two Billy sat back and sighed, closing his own eyes as though savoring a delicious flavor or delicate aroma.

Opening his eyes, he kept one hand clamped over Sam's mouth and leaned forward, his lips brushing against the boy's ear as he whispered to him…

SPN

Dean paced the floor in front of Sam's classroom at the end of the day. What was taking Sam so long?

The twelve-year old peered in through the pebbled window into the classroom but couldn't see anything.

Suddenly the door burst open and Sam exited, head down, hands gripping the straps of his backpack. Seconds later, a crowd of third-graders gushed through the doorway, laughing and chatting.

As the eight-year old passed Dean he reached out and grabbed onto his shirt, urging him forward.

"Sam? Sammy, hey, is everything okay?"

The younger Winchester didn't stop but nodded, "Yeah. It's okay."

Dean wanted to ask him more but Sam wouldn't let go of his shirt and he was compelled to follow.

"Hey! Sam, stop!" Dean cried and dug his heels into the linoleum hallway, forcing his brother to halt in his tracks.

"What's wrong, Sammy? Did you talk to those kids in your class?"

The eight-year old turned to his brother, a smile plastered on his face that Dean thought was really creepy.

"Yeah, Dean," Sam said, "We talked."

"And?" the twelve-year old asked, "What happened?"

"Tara and Ethan laughed at me," Sam told him, still keeping the smile firmly in place, "And Bryce said that he'd hit me if I ever talked to them again."

"That's it," Dean snarled and grabbed his brother by the arm, "We're going to see the Principal."

Sam didn't argue and allowed Dean to drag him to the office.

"We need to see Principal Allen," the twelve-year old demanded of the receptionist even before the door could slam shut behind him.

Before the receptionist could reply, probably to tell Dean not to yell or something, the principal's door opened and there he stood, a concerned look on his face.

"Dean? Is everything alright?" Principal Allen asked.

The twelve-year old didn't have time to be surprised by the fact that the man had remembered his name before launching into a tirade about Sam's classmates picking on him.

Before Dean could finish, Principal Allen raised his hand, "Let's see if we can catch them before they leave. Edna, can you call those three down to the office please?"

The receptionist nodded and used the PA system to call Bryce, Tara and Ethan to the office.

Dean led his brother over to the row of seats they had sat on the first day of school. The twelve-year old noticed his brother no longer had that weird grin on his face but he now looked tired, no, more than tired, exhausted, the skin on his face kind of droopy even.

What the heck? Dean thought before the door opened and Sam's classmates entered, looking confused.

"Principal Allen?" the black-haired boy asked in bewilderment, "Are we in trouble? Why are we here?"

"Why's he here?" Tara asked, pointing at Sam.

"I've been told that you three were calling Sam here names and threatening him," Principal Allen told the trio.

All three children looked up at him utterly flummoxed by the accusation.

"We didn't!" Bryce argued.

"Yes you did!" Dean snapped, "Sam said you did!"

The large third-grader peered at Dean as though he had just grown a second head.

"Uh…well… yesterday…"

"Yes?" Principal Allen urged.

"Maybe we did call him some names," Bryce admitted, his cheeks and neck going red, "But I never threatened him."

"He was acting really weird," Tara interrupted, "This morning, before school. He came over to Ella, Nancy, Michelle and me and waved, but then I got Bryce and Ethan and he was... I don't know… weird… he just kind of stared at us…"

Ethan, the black-haired boy, nodded, "It was like he was a zombie or something. His mouth was kind of hanging open and he was just staring, like Tara said."

"We didn't say nothing to him," Bryce insisted, "It was… creepy… so we left. That's it."

Dean turned in his seat to look at his brother. Sam had never done anything like that before.

Principal Allen looked from the two Winchesters back to the trio of third-graders.

"Well, hm, you know the rules about bullying in this school," he addressed Bryce, Ethan and Tara, "If I hear you've been picking on anyone, the consequences will be severe."

"Yes Principal Allen," all three children said in unison.

"You may go," he told them and they all slunk out of the office.

Next, the elderly man turned to the brothers.

"I don't appreciate being lied to, either," he said and Dean opened his mouth to reply.

Holding up a hand, Principal Allen continued, "I understand that this is all new to you boys and it might be hard to make friends at first, but I won't have anyone making up stories to get their classmates into trouble."

Dean swallowed and closed his mouth. He glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye and it didn't appear as if Sam had heard anything the principal had just said.

"Can we go?" the twelve-year old asked and Principal Allen nodded.

The office door opened with such force that it bounced off the opposite wall and there stood Bobby Singer, eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

"Yer here!"

Dean nodded, "We were just talking to Principal Allen."

The mechanic relaxed instantly, looking extremely relieved and gave the receptionist and principal a cursory greeting.

"C'mon boys," he said, holding an arm out to shepherd the Winchesters out of the room.

"What were you talking to the principal about?" Bobby asked as they walked out to his truck.

"You know, he just wanted to see how we were doing," Dean lied, "How we were liking the school and everything."

Bobby harrumphed, "That's no reason to scare a man half out of his wits."

W

Sam was quiet during the drive back to the Salvage Yard, though he didn't look quite as exhausted as he had back in the principal's office.

Karen was working a late shift so it was just Bobby and the boys for dinner. The new father put a frozen lasagna in the oven and made a salad from the ingredients his wife had bought on Sunday to make a meal for himself and the brothers.

As they ate the lasagna, the eight-year old perked up, talking about his friend Billy.

"He's in the eighth grade?" Dean asked, spearing a chunk of pasta and sauce onto his fork.

Sam nodded through a mouthful of salad, "Mmhm."

"Who's his teacher?" the twelve-year old wanted to know.

His brother shrugged, "Dunno. Didn't ask."

"Do you think I could meet him some time?" Dean asked his brother and Sam nodded again.

"I'm glad yer making friends, son," Bobby broke into the conversation, "But aren't there any kids in yer own grade you could chum around with? Maybe from the other grade three class?"

Dean watched as Sam's grip on his fork tightened and he stopped chewing his food.

"Sammy?" he called his brother's name.

"No!" the eight-year snapped, glaring up at his brother and adoptive father.

Bobby sat stunned for a long moment and Dean felt a shiver of fear run down his spine.

"May I be excused?" Sam muttered and slid out of his chair before Bobby could answer, running upstairs; Dean heard the bedroom door slam shut behind his brother.

The auto mechanic stared at Dean, as speechless as he was.

SPN

Sam sat down heavily on the edge of his bed and wrapped his arms around his middle.

Why couldn't they stop asking him about the kids in his class? Why didn't they get it? His classmates hated him. They called him mean names and said they'd hurt him. Why would he want to be friends with them?

Besides, he had a friend. Billy was his friend. Billy never called him names or hated him just because of his face. Billy liked him and he liked Billy.

What was wrong with having just one friend?

SPN

After finishing dinner, Dean left Bobby to clear the dishes and he went upstairs to the room he shared with his brother.

Turning the doorknob slowly, the twelve-year old poked his head into the room, catching sight of his brother sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Hey Squirt, you okay?" he called softly and for a moment Sam didn't answer.

Then, the younger boy slowly looked up and blinked owlishly as though just waking up.

"Dean," he said, as though he'd forgotten all about his brother.

"Are you feeling alright?" Dean asked and stepped into the room.

He wasn't sure but maybe it was the medication for his leg that Dr. Chatsworth had put him on that was making Sam act weird.

"Mmm," the eight-year old hummed a noncommittal sound.

Dean crossed the room and sat down on the bed beside his sibling. He reached out and placed a hand on his brother's brow but Sam didn't feel warm or even feverish.

"I was thinking, Sammy," Dean began slowly, "And I'd really like you to meet the gang, my friends, you know? I think you'd really like them."

Sam peered up at Dean with large, green eyes.

"They won't make fun of me because of-"

Before Sam could finish, Dean shook his head and brushed his brother's bangs away from his face, revealing the scarred side of his face that he was so self-conscious about.

"Nah," the twelve-year old said, "They're good guys."

Sam dropped his gaze, thinking, biting his lip for a long time before he looked up at his brother again and nodded.

"Okay, I'd like that," he said and smiled, a real smile, not the creepy grin he'd plastered onto his face when Dean had picked him up at the end of the day.

SPN

Wednesday morning, Sam sat beside Dean as Bobby drove them to school in his truck. Neither Winchester had seen Karen the night before; she had returned home after the brothers had gone to bed and so she knew nothing about the siblings' visit to the principal.

Sam, anxious to meet Dean's friends, reached out and grabbed his brother's hand, squeezing tightly.

The twelve-year old glanced over at him and smiled encouragingly, squeezing Sam's hand back.

"You boys have a good day and stay outta trouble," Bobby told them as he pulled up in front of the school and parked.

"We will," Dean promised as he slid out of the truck behind his brother.

"C'mon Sammy!" the twelve-year old urged as he headed around to the back of the school, hand still gripping his brother's.

"Hey! Aiden!" Dean called when he caught sight of one of his friends.

The other boy looked up and waved, Jerome and Glenn, who were also already at school, repeated the gesture.

"Who's this?" Glenn asked as Dean ran up to his friends.

Sam, suddenly shy, hid behind his big brother.

"This is my little brother," Dean introduced them, "Sam."

"C'mon Sammy, they won't bite," he urged and pulled his brother out from behind him so that he couldn't hide.

The three boys said hello and asked what class Sam was in.

"Mrs. Marquis'," Sam answered quietly.

The boys were staring at him, clearly curious but they didn't say anything about his face at all.

"My little cousin's in that class," Jerome said, "Do you know Tyson?"

Sam shrugged. He was sure he'd seen the boy but of course, had never spoken to him.

"Sam likes to play basketball," Dean told his friends, "I was thinking he could join us at recess today."

"Are you any good?" Aiden asked Sam seriously.

Dean chuckled, "He's a Squirt but he's fast. You should see him run down the basketball court."

The boys looked up when Mark arrived, racing over towards them and being introduced to the younger Winchester.

"Sounds great," Mark said when told that Sam would be joining their game, "I play with my little sister all the time and she's only in Kindergarten."

It was settled. At recess, Sam would play basketball with Dean and his friends.

When the bell rang for everyone to go inside, the eight-year old didn't even spare a thought for Billy. He was just happy that not all kids were as mean as the ones in his class and looked forward to spending time with his brother and the older boys.

SPN

"Shoot Sammy! Shoot!"

Dean couldn't help but grin as he heard Jerome call his brother by the nickname he himself used, urging the third-grader to try and get the basketball into the net.

Sam bent his knees, paused as though gauging the distance between himself and the basket before throwing the ball.

The orange ball bounced off the backboard, hit the rim of the basket and appeared to hover for a second or two, as though with indecision before dropping through the net.

"YEAH!" Jerome and Aiden shouted in unison, hands raised to the eight-year old for 'high fives'.

Sam was smiling from ear to ear, looking happier than Dean had seen him since school had started.

Maybe now Sam could forget about those asshole kids in his class and that Billy guy and feel like he belonged. Dean didn't think his friends would have a problem hanging out with him and Sam, especially now that they knew how good at basketball his brother was.

All too soon the bell to go back inside rang and Dean bade goodbye to his brother, giving Sam a hug before the eight-year old ran off to his classroom.

"Where'd your brother learn to play like that?" Mark asked, curiously.

"He was taught by the best," Dean commented, smirking.

"Oh really? Who's that?" Jerome added, wrapping an arm around Dean's shoulders.

"Ha ha ha," the eldest Winchester laughed humorlessly.

"Really though, he's pretty good for being eight," Mark told Dean and the older brother smiled.

"Surprising when he's that short," Aiden commented.

Dean nodded.

"Hey, Dean, I was wondering uh… what happened to your brother's face? Why's it all scarred like that?" Glenn asked hesitantly as they stepped inside and headed towards the stairs to the second floor of the school.

"When he was a baby he got burned in a fire," Dean answered, seeing no reason to lie to his friends. He'd already told them that they were orphans and had only just moved to Sioux Falls to live with their adoptive parents.

"Damn," Glenn swore, "That sucks. Couldn't the doctors or whoever, fix it?"

"They did as much as they could," Dean told him, "But I mean, we were just kids and didn't have money for plastic surgery or whatever, still don't."

His friends nodded solemnly.

To dispel the awkward silence, Dean asked his friends if they'd like to have Sam play basketball with them again.

"Heck yeah!" Glenn announced, "But next time he's on my team, okay?"

Dean smiled as the five of them entered their classroom and took their seats.

SPN

Sam stared out the window as he listened to Mrs. Marquis give her lesson, his chin propped up on the heel of his hand, gaze lingering on the line of trees bordering the schoolyard.

He had had fun- a lot of fun, if he was honest with himself- with Dean and his friends and he wanted to play with them again. But he also felt kind of bad that Billy hadn't been there. Maybe he'd like to play basketball with them? Sam decided that at the next recess he'd find his friend and see if he wanted to meet Dean and the other boys.

W

"Sam, would you please start us off?" Mrs. Marquis asked the eight-year old as she opened her copy of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe and the class likewise opened their copies of the C.S. Lewis classic.

Sam stared down at the book in front of him, nervous about reading out loud. He could feel his classmates' eyes on him and a drop of cold sweat broke out on his brow.

I can do this, Sam thought; I like to read, so I can read to other people too.

"Sam?" Mrs. Marquis brought the boy out of his thoughts and he cleared his throat.

"'Ch-Chapter one'," he began, "'Lucy L-Looks Into A Wardobe'."

Sam paused for a moment before continuing, keeping his eyes fixed on the words in front of him and not on the thoughts of his classmates listening to him.

"'Once there were f-four children wh-whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy. This is a story is about something that happened to them…'"

As Sam read, his voice became stronger and he stopped worrying about what the other kids in his class thought and concentrated on the story. He was a bit disappointed when, at the end of the chapter, Mrs. Marquis thanked him for reading and asked a girl in the front row to continue.

W

Sam tore out of the double doors and into the schoolyard as soon as the bell rang. Pelting across the grass before a teacher could see, he reached the copse of trees and slipped into the wooded area.

"Billy? Billy you here?" the eight-year old called happily, panting.

Glancing around, all Sam saw were trees and leaf litter, no sign of his friend.

"Billy?" Sam called again, thinking that maybe the older boy was still making his way across the field. He peered out towards the school through the trees, trying to catch sight of his friend.

An icy hand gripped his shoulder suddenly and turned him around. It was Billy!

Sam hadn't even heard the older boy approach.

"Bill-" the eight-year old began but his words died in his throat.

Billy wasn't smiling. In fact, he was frowning, his eyes narrowed as though he was angry.

"Where were you, Clyde?" the eighth-grader asked, using the name he always called Sam like it was a not-so nice thing to call someone, like the words Sam was used to being called.

"I… I was p-playing basketball with my brother and his f-friends," Sam stammered. He'd never seen Billy look like this and it was scaring him a little.

"I was here! Waiting for you!" Billy snapped, face inches from Sam's.

"I'm sorry," the little boy apologized.

"Am I not your friend?" The older boy asked in an accusatory tone, "I thought you were hip but maybe I was wrong and you're just another nosebleed."

Billy punctuated his words by tightening his grip on Sam's shoulder, causing the younger boy to squirm with discomfort.

"You are!" Sam exclaimed, "You are my friend, Billy!"

The older boy didn't respond, he just gripped Sam's shoulder all the more tighter.

"Please, let me go!" Sam cried out, "You're hurting me!"

Billy growled and yanked Sam forwards, still not letting him go, and slammed his back against the trunk of a large maple tree.

Sam groaned in pain.

"I'm your friend," Billy said in a quiet voice, his nose nearly touching Sam's, "Me. Only me."

The eight-year old stared up at his friend with tear-filled eyes, frightened.

Billy's frown cracked and he smiled, grinned without opening his mouth. He reached out and ran his fingers through Sam's longish hair.

Leaning his face a little closer to the younger child's, he opened his mouth and began whispering into Sam's ear…

SPN

Dean couldn't help but be a little disappointed when he didn't see Sam during the lunch recess. He'd thought his brother had really enjoyed playing basketball and his friends.

Maybe he was wrong though.

Sighing, Dean tried to focus on the basketball game underway with his friends but his heart wasn't in it.

"Hey Dean! Get your head in the game!" Aiden snapped, irritated.

"Sorry," he muttered, "I'm just thinking about Sammy."

"What about him?" Mark asked.

"I thought he was going to play with us again," Glenn added, as Aiden and Jerome stopped playing and went to see what the matter was.

"I did too, but he's not here and I haven't seen him all recess," Dean told his friends.

"Maybe he's just hanging out with some kids from his own class," Aiden suggested.

Dean shook his head, "No, he's not. He won't even talk to them, says they hate him."

"Then where is he, do you think?" Jerome asked.

"Sam met this eighth-grader the first day we were here and he's been hanging out with him a lot," Dean told his friends, "And ever since he's been acting really strange."

"Strange how?" Mark asked.

"I don't know. I can't describe it," Dean sighed, frustrated, "But if you knew Sammy like I do, you'd know he's not himself."

"What's the kid's name?" Glenn asked and Dean told them.

"Billy? Like, short for William?" Glenn wondered out loud.

"I guess," Dean muttered, "Didn't really ask Sammy about it."'

His friends looked at one another.

"I don't think there's any eighth-graders named Billy," Jerome told Dean and the eldest Winchester's head shot up, alarmed.

"What?!" Dean asked, his heart suddenly picking up its pace in his chest.

"There could be, you know," Jerome backtracked, "I just can't think of any Billy in particular right now."

"Maybe it's an imaginary friend?" Aiden suggested.

"Yeah," Mark agreed, "My little sister has an imaginary friend she calls Bobo."

Dean shook his head, "Sam's too old for that stuff."

The four other boys stood around awkwardly for a moment, not knowing what to say, all of them jumping when the bell rang.

"It's probably some eighth-grader," Jerome told Dean, trying to reassure him, "I mean, we don't know all of them by name."

The other boys nodded, agreeing that that seemed logical.

Dean nodded as well, but all the while thinking that that did not explain Sam's strange behaviour the past few days.

SPN

Sam sank down into his chair as his classmates milled around him, talking and taking their jackets off.

"Freak."

Looking up, he saw Bryce as the larger boy walked past him, towards his own desk. It had been him who had spoken.

Sam lowered his gaze to the top of his desk and tried not to listen to his classmates' talk.

It didn't work. It seemed as though his ears were searching out those cruel names and he heard them in amongst the normal third-grader chitchat: Freak, Monster, Weirdo, Spaz, Krueger.

He closed his eyes. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be with Billy.

Billy, who never called him names.

Billy, who really cared about him.

Billy, who was his only true friend.

SPN

Dean was surprised when he didn't have to wait for his brother to leave class at the end of the day. Sam was already outside the room, backpack and jacket on, hands stuffed into his pockets, waiting for him.

"Hey," Dean greeted, "I thought you wanted to play basketball with us. Why didn't you come over at recess?"

Sam shrugged, "They're your friends, Dean."

The twelve-year old frowned, "They could be yours too."

"I have-" Sam began but Dean held up a hand.

"If you say 'Billy' I'm going to scream," the twelve-year old threatened.

Sam looked at him for a moment before glancing away down the hall.

Sighing, Dean grabbed his brother's wrist, "C'mon, Bobby's waiting for us."

W

"TV off boys," Karen called late that evening as the siblings sat watching some cartoons in the den, "Go upstairs and take a bath."

Dean groaned but slid off the couch, grabbing the television remote and jabbing the OFF button as he did so.

"C'mon Sammy," the twelve-year old said, "You heard the Warden."

"I heard that!" Karen called from the kitchen where she was making an apple pie.

Dean smirked and headed upstairs to the bedroom to grab clean underwear and his pajamas.

As soon as Sam had his hands on his own clothes, his older brother spoke up, "I call first bath!"

Dean turned and ran full-tilt towards the bathroom, hearing his brother racing after him.

Slamming his palm against the light switch as he skidded into the bathroom, Dean undressed within seconds and had already turned on the tap in the bathtub before Sam was in the doorway.

"No fair," Sam whined, giggling, "My leg's still hurting."

"Too bad," Dean commented.

Sam pouted for a moment before sitting on the closed toilet lid. Dean stepped into the tub, drawing the shower curtain halfway for a bit of privacy.

"Really? You haven't said anything about it?" Dean asked in a more serious tone, wondering about his brother's leg.

As if to prove that it was still sore, Sam leaned over and put a hand on his calf.

W

"Okay Sammy, your turn," Dean told his brother as he stood up and grabbed his towel to dry himself.

Letting the used water out of the tub, Dean shoved the stopper back in and ran the tap again for clean bathwater for his sibling.

Sam stood up and began to get undressed.

"Oh my God! Sam! What happened?" Dean exclaimed as he caught sight of the large purple bruise on his brother's shoulder.

"What?" Sam asked, and turned.

Dean's eyes widened at the bruises on his sibling's back.

"What the hell?"

Sam froze for a moment, his face once again taking on that exhausted look it had the day before, the skin looking pale and droopy and spongy.

"It's okay, Dean. Billy and I were just playing."

"Nuh huh," the older Winchester shook his head, "That's not good, Sammy."

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam assured him, "Billy and me are gonna be careful."

"Maybe I should tell Karen," Dean suggested.

"No!" Sam snapped, "I said I was okay!"

"I'll be more careful next time," the eight-year old assured him, "I promise."

Oh-Okay," Dean said, "But if anything like this happens again, I am gonna tell Karen."

The brothers didn't speak again until they were ready for bed, Karen and Bobby tucking them in and they bade goodnight to each other.

W

Dean lay awake for a long time, confused and worried about his brother.

He had no idea what was going on with his sibling, who had been acting fine up until they had started school.

Dean especially didn't like this Billy kid if he was hurting Sam, even by accident.

Maybe I should have a talk with him, Dean thought, let him know I'm not gonna let him do anything to Sammy.

A chill ran through the twelve-year old and he shivered.

Tomorrow, Thursday, he'd get Sam to find this Billy character so they could meet in person.

W

"DEAN!"

The twelve-year old looked around the crowded playground, hearing one of his friends calling his name the next morning after Bobby had dropped him and Sam off.

"DEAN!"

The call came again, closer this time and Dean dragged his sibling with him towards the sound.

It was Glenn. The boy, normally of a ruddy complexion, was strangely pale.

"Is everything okay? What's wrong?" Dean asked, trying to keep a hold on his brother who wouldn't stop tugging at him, trying to get away.

"Sam! Stop it! Sam! Sam?" Dean snapped at his sibling his anger turning to surprise when his brother slipped out of his jacket and took off through the crowd of kids, leaving his brother to hold his discarded garment.

"We've gotta talk to you," Glenn said but Dean ignored him, calling out his brother's name again.

"It's about Sam."

That made the twelve-year old stop and look at his friend.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, his heart skipping a beat.

"C'mere," Glenn beckoned with one hand and Dean followed, catching sight of Aiden, Mark and Jerome leaning against the wall beside the boarded-up classroom.

"What are you talking about, Glenn?" Dean demanded, "What's about Sam?"

He noticed that all his friends looked rather tired and sickly, as though none of them had gotten much sleep the night before. His heart rate increased and he felt sweat bead on his forehead.

"I was thinking about what you'd said yesterday," Mark said, "About Sam saying his friend was some grade eight kid named Billy."

Dean nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.

"We checked," Jerome spoke up, "There is no boy in grade eight named Billy."

"What… what are you saying?" Dean asked, "Is he from a different school?"

Mark shook his head, "I told my older brother about it 'casue he knows everything- he's in grade ten out at the high school- and he told me this… this kid, Billy used to go to school here a long time ago, like, in the '50s is what he said."

Dean frowned, "But that doesn't make sense? Billy would be an adult now, wouldn't he?"

Was his brother hanging out with some creepy grown up who skulked around the schoolyard hoping to talk to the little kids?

As though he could read Dean's thoughts, Mark shook his head, "That's what I thought too. But Eric said that wasn't it. Billy is still here, still a kid."

Dean opened his mouth to speak but Mark beat him to it, "Billy's dead."

The eldest Winchester took a step back, feeling as though he'd been punched in the stomach.

"What?" he wheezed, staring in disbelief at his friends.

"My brother told me the story," Mark said, "I remember hearing about it too but I never connected the dots, you know?"

Dean looked to Jerome and Aiden and Glenn; they were all nodding in agreement to Mark's words.

This is some joke, Dean thought, they're pulling my leg.

"This isn't funny," he told them vehemently.

"We're not joking," Aiden told him, "And if we aren't joking, than your brother's in danger."

"Who…" Dean licked his lips before continuing, "Who is this Billy?"

Mark spoke, telling him exactly what his brother had told him.

"Billy Jenkins used to go to school here years ago, in the fifties," he started, locking his gaze with Dean's, "And he was a bad kid."

"He never listened to any of the nuns or priests who taught and he never did homework," Mark continued, "He was always getting the strap and stuff like that but he didn't care."

"That wasn't the worst either. He was always picking on the other kids, didn't matter who; stealing from them, fighting with them, calling them names, even the little ones," Mark kept on, his eyes fixed on Dean's, "He only ever had one friend… well, not really a friend, my brother said, more like a slave, some kid a few years younger than him, in grade two or three. Kid was poor as dirt and the other kids didn't really like him so he found Billy and stuck to him like glue. Billy didn't care whether the kid was poor or not, he just liked having someone to worship the ground he walked on."

As Mark spoke, Dean felt a cold seep into jacket, through his skin and into his bones and stay there.

"That little kid, he would do anything for Billy," the twelve-year old continued, "For years, or so my brother said. Anyway, one day, Billy misses school and the kid, now that he's by himself, gets invited to play by some of his classmates for the first time."

"You can imagine how happy the kid is," Mark said, "To be playing and not following Billy around all the time."

"It's like the kid realizes that there's others out there besides Billy and when Billy comes back to the school after a day or two, the boy doesn't come running over like he's expected."

So cold, Dean was so cold, his heart was hammering in his chest as though it wanted to break through his rib cage.

"Billy's furious, but he's also curious, so he finds the boy and watches him for a while, playing with his classmates, acting as though he'd completely forgotten about Billy."

"The next day, Billy's got everything planned," Mark keeps going, his voice wavering now, with fear and something approaching revulsion.

"Before school starts, when everyone's hanging around, Billy finds the kid and starts sweet-talking him, asking him how he likes his new friends and all that kind of stuff," Mark continued, "All the while Billy's leading the kid inside, where there's no teachers."

Dean felt as though his knees were going to give out. He didn't want Mark to finish the story but he knew he had to hear it out, if only to save Sam.

"Billy leads the kid down the hallway to the back of the school, where we go outside for recess now," Mark was saying, "and he brings the boy into this classroom."

Dean looked up at the boarded-up window Mark and the others were standing in front of.

"Billy closes the door and locks it 'cause back then they locked from the inside," Mark continued, "But the boy doesn't notice, he just keeps talking, happy to have found new friends."

"Billy goes to the teacher's desk and starts pulling open drawers, looking for something."

"The kid stops talking and asks Billy what he's doing," Mark said, "And Billy just says 'I thought you were my friend.'"

"Billy's got his hands on a pair of scissors, the old-fashioned kind, heavy, metal, with long blades, and he just stands there, hiding them, waiting for the boy to answer."

"And the kid says something like 'I can have more than one friend' or something like that, my brother told me," Mark told them, "And then Billy loses his shit. I mean, really, he leaps over the teacher's desk and stabs the kid in the chest with the scissors."

Mark stopped and Dean closed his eyes, praying that he was finished.

"The kid hits the first row of students' desks but doesn't fall. He's kind of paralyzed and Billy pulls the scissors out, stabbing him again."

"My brother said Billy stabbed that boy about a hundred times," Mark told Dean, "So many times you couldn't even recognize him anymore."

Dean felt his stomach clench with nausea.

"Just then, some nun comes in, maybe looking for her scissors or something," Mark continues, "And tries to open the door but its locked of course. She has a key and unlocks to door to find Billy and the kid surrounded by a pool of blood. She screams and a bunch of people come running. They trap Billy in the room, or at least stand outside the door so he's forced to stay inside or meet them, and someone calls the police."

"It doesn't take long for the Sheriff to arrive and they open the door to the room, gonna take Billy to jail or whatever they did with kids like that back then, but he slips past, and books it through the doors closest to the classroom and out into the yard."

"The Sheriff chases him all the way to the trees and Billy climbs up one, trying to escape. The cops are all standing around at the bottom, yelling at him to come down and all that. Billy hangs on to that tree and isn't coming down for nothing."

"The tree was rotted on the inside and Billy didn't know that, so he's hanging there, thinking he's got the best of the Sheriff, at least for a little while at least, when the branch he's holding onto breaks and he falls. Billy breaks his neck."

Dean groaned, feeling as though he really was going to be sick.

"So… So his ghost is still here? Looking for little kids to kill?"

Mark nodded, "That's not the worst part."

Dean gave his friend a look of 'you've got to be kidding me' but Mark looked as serious as ever.

"They refused to bury Billy in the churchyard 'cause he'd killed that boy," Mark said, "So his parents pulled some strings and had him buried here. At the school."

Dean's mouth dropped open in shock.

"Where?" he asked.

Mark shrugged, "My brother told me they thought he was underneath the baseball diamond. It wasn't there back when the school first opened."

"Has… has anyone died here since B-Billy?" Dean asked, "Because of Billy?"

He couldn't believe he was actually talking about this kid as though he really was a ghost. He'd never really believed in things like that, especially when the living were more dangerous than any angry spirit, in his opinion.

"Back in the early 70s a girl slipped on some ice in front of the school and cracked her head open," Mark said, "But I don't think Billy did that."

Dean thought back on the events of the past few days of school, of Sam's strange aggression, his insistence that his classmates hated him and that Billy was his only friend, the strange bruises he'd seen on his brother's back just the night before and Dean Winchester made up his mind that maybe ghosts really did exist and one was out to get his sibling.

"I have to find Sammy," he gasped, reeling from the revelation his friends had dumped onto him.

"We'll help," Mark told him and all five boys dashed off across the schoolyard, calling the younger Winchester's name frantically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a song by Bullet For My Valentine.


	13. Haunted

Dean's heart began to pound in his chest as he scanned the kids clustered in small groups or pairs on the pavement.

He couldn't see his brother, not surprisingly; since Sammy was so short and it was likely he wouldn't be seen easily among the taller boys and girls.

"Sammy!" the twelve-year old called, hoping to hear his brother reply.

"SAM!"

"Hey, Dean!"

The elder Winchester turned expectantly, only to see his friend Corey.

Normally the twelve-year old would stop to talk to the other boy, the first friend he'd made here at Sioux Falls Elementary, but Corey hadn't been hanging out with Dean and the others, didn't know about Sam or Billy the Ghost.

Without a word to the other boy, Dean turned away and pushed his way through the crowd of fellow students, calling his brother's name once again, hearing Jerome, Glenn, Aiden and Mark echoing the cry.

SPN

As soon as he exited Bobby's pickup, Sam wanted, no, needed to find Billy.

But Dean had a firm grip on the sleeve of his jacket and wouldn't let him go.

As they walked around to the back of the school, Sam started tugging on his sleeve, trying to pull away from Dean's hold.

The eight-year old heard someone call Dean's name- it was his brother's friend Glenn- and he started to pull harder on his jacket, hoping that his brother would let him go so he could hang with the other seventh-grader.

"Is everything okay?" Dean asked his friend as the other boy approached, "What's wrong?"

Realizing that Dean had no intentions of letting him go, Sam slipped his arms out of his jacket sleeves and took off running towards the copse at the edge of the yard, ignoring his brother calling his name as he dashed across the pavement.

Sam ran as fast as he could, hoping his brother wasn't following because he wanted it to be a surprise when he showed up with Billy, and tried to ignore it when his leg began to hurt from the rapid movement.

The third-grader slipped into the trees unnoticed, panting and searching the woods for his friend.

"Billy! Hey, Billy! You here?"

There was no response. Sam continued to scan the surrounding trees, trying to catch his breath.

"What are you doing, Clyde?"

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Billy's voice coming from right above him. Tilting his head up, the third-grader caught sight of the older boy sitting in a tree right overhead, straddling a sturdy branch.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, taking an uncertain step back.

"I saw you," Billy said, "I saw you in the yard with those other boys."

"Oh!" Sam exclaimed and hurried to explain, "That was my brother, Dean, and his friends. They're really cool and I think you'd like them. I was thinking we could all play basketball together today. Do you want to?"

Billy said nothing but his expression darkened.

"I told Dean about you and I want you to meet him," Sam continued, his voice starting to waver and he took a step back.

"D-Don't you want to play basketball?" the eight-year old asked nervously, wondering why his friend looked so angry.

Suddenly Billy broke into a grin, showing teeth, and he jumped down from the tree, right in front of Sam.

"Sure, Clyde," he said, reaching out to put an arm around the younger boy's shoulders, "We can do that."

Sam tried to ignore how cold his friend's arm was against his skin and smiled up at the older boy.

"You'll like them! I know you will!"

Billy nodded and began to steer Sam towards the yard.

"Where are we going?" the young Winchester asked.

"Inside, Clyde," Billy said magnanimously, "There's something I'd like to show you."

SPN

"Sam! SAM!" Dean shouted, almost frantic now. He cleared the paved area of the yard and turning his attention towards the line of trees at the edge of the school, where his brother seemed to always be meeting his 'friend'.

SPN

"How are you liking your new friends, Clyde?" Billy asked Sam and the eight-year old peered around, disoriented.

They were inside the school and Sam couldn't remember the walk across the yard.

"They're really nice," Sam replied somewhat weakly, "They never said anything about my-"

Billy's arm seemed to grow heavier against the eight-year old's shoulders as he spoke and he stopped talking when he saw that they were standing in front of a classroom.

Looking up, Sam saw that it was the classroom with the paper-covered window across from the Kindergarten room.

Raising the arm not around the young Winchester's shoulders, Billy pushed the door open easily. Sam peered into the room through the doorway and saw an empty classroom.

SPN

"Hey! Stay out of those trees!"

Dean halted mid-step at the authoritarian voice that called out to him. Looking over his shoulder he saw a teacher he didn't know striding towards him, scowling.

"You're not allowed in there," the teacher reiterated as he came closer to Dean and the twelve-year old veered away before he could come nearer.

With an anxious glance over his shoulder, the eldest Winchester jogged back towards the school.

Shoving his way through his fellow students, ignoring their offended exclamations, Dean once again scanned the crowd, hoping to spy his sibling.

"Sam's brother! Hey!"

Frowning, the twelve-year old peered around, wondering who was calling his name.

Making their way through the crowd, the seventh-grader saw the three kids from Sam's classroom who'd been called to Principal Allen's office: Bryce, Ethan and Tara.

"What?" Dean barked, distracted and unwilling to talk to a bunch of crummy kids who thought it was okay to pick on people who were different.

"Are you looking for the…uh… for your brother?" the black-haired boy named Ethan asked and Dean nodded, scanning over their heads for Sam.

"We saw him," the girl, Tara, spoke up.

"Where?" Dean asked and took a step closer to them.

"He was heading inside," Bryce answered.

"When?" the twelve-year old demanded.

The three third-graders exchanged looks, clearly anxious about speaking to an intense Dean Winchester.

The twelve-year old was so distracted by the younger children that he barely noticed his friends coming up behind him, grim expressions on their faces.

"About…uh… five minutes ago?" Ethan answered uncertainly.

"Five minutes? Are you sure?" Dean asked and the boy swallowed nervously.

"Yeah?"

"This is important!" Dean snapped and he flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

It was Mark.

"We couldn't find Sam," he told Dean.

"He's inside," the frightened older brother answered.

"Shit," Mark swore, "Billy's got 'im."

The name seemed to resonate with Bryce and his eyes widened.

"You don't mean the ghost?" he asked, "Do you?"

The seventh-graders didn't answer his question. Dean turned on his heels for the school building, his heart jackhammering in his chest.

SPN

Without a word, Billy steered Sam into the classroom, his arm painful now around the young boy's shoulders. As they stepped over the threshold, the door slammed shut of its own accord and locked.

Sam glanced around the classroom as Billy's arm finally slid off his shoulders.

The floors were made of hardwood and covered in a thick layer of dust, though the years of dust could not hide the large dark stain that marred the boards a few feet from the front of chalkboard. The chalkboard itself was green and Sam could see the faint outlines of some long-ago lesson, an eraser brush and bits of white chalk lay in the metal tray beneath it.

The walls, a dull yellow with age, were only broken up by the lighter squares and rectangles in the paint, where posters and shelves had sat years ago.

A row of brass coat hooks decorated the far wall, waiting patiently for a new generation of boys and girls to hang their belongings.

The single window in the classroom, which was meant to look out towards the schoolyard, was covered with two large pieces of plywood, allowing only thin shafts of sunlight through.

"What's so special about this classroom?" Sam asked, trying not to sound scared and confused- because he was- and took a couple of steps away from Billy, his back to the older boy.

Instead of answering the eight-year old's question, Billy speaks, his tone accusatory.

"I thought you were my friend."

Sam continued to stare around the classroom though his gaze was drawn again and again to the strange dark brown stain in front of the chalkboard.

"You are," Sam replied, "But Dean's my brother."

"You're my friend," Billy repeated, sounding as though he were grinding the words out from between clenched teeth.

"I can have other friends, can't I?" Sam asked rhetorically and glanced over his shoulder.

Billy had changed. Although he was still wearing the same clothes as he always did- something that Sam only now realized- his face was drawn in a mask of hate. His skin was deathly pale, his eyes no more than pieces of black coal peering out of sickly purple circles, his lips skinned back from his teeth in a sardonic grin, teeth that until now hadn't looked so sharp. And gripped in his fist was a pair of scissors. A heavy, pair, old style made completely out of metal that shone silver in the dull light.

"B-Billy?" Sam squeaked and took a step back, his heart in his throat.

SPN

Dean barely noticed his friends or the three third-graders following behind him as he shoved the double doors of the school open and turned towards the boarded up classroom, the one directly across from the Kindergarten room and beside the doors leading to the yard.

The twelve-year old almost slammed into the door in his urgency to get to his brother, grabbing the handle and yanking on it hard.

"It's locked," one of the two third-grade boys said from somewhere behind Dean unnecessarily.

If it was locked, how did Sam get in there? The thought flashed through Dean's mind before it was gone, forgotten as unimportant.

"Break the glass!" Aiden suggested at Dean's shoulder.

"Sammy! Hold on!" Dean called, not even sure how he knew his brother was inside the abandoned classroom but certain that he was.

Raising his arm, the twelve-year old bent it and smashed his elbow against the pebbled glass window.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean snarled in frustration and pain as his elbow bounced off the glass without breaking it.

Snarling, the twelve-year old hit his elbow against the glass a second time.

"SAMMY!" Dean called, terrified of what might be happening to his brother in the classroom.

"Hey! Hey! Here!" a voice spoke up behind the seventh-grader and a small hand proffered a glass paperweight the size of a softball with a large Blue Morpho butterfly captured inside.

Dean grabbed the paperweight without a word and slammed it against the window. Nothing happened, there wasn't even a crack in the glass. Raising his hand, Dean prepared to bring the paperweight down again.

SPN

Sam's eyes were pinned to the scissors in Billy's hand.

"P-Please," the boy stammered, "D-Don't hurt m-me."

The older boy said nothing; he only started to walk forward, slowly, forcing Sam to back up.

The eighth-year old's eyes darted away from the scissors, as quickly as he dared, to the classroom door and back again, trying to figure out if he would have time to get out and into the hallway before Billy attacked.

The eighth-grader continued forward, forcing Sam towards the back of the classroom, away from the door.

"Pl-please," Sam whispered, "D-Don't."

The boy yelped as his injured leg gave out beneath him and he landed on his backside on the dusty floor. Not even trying to get back up, Sam scooted backwards leaving a wide swath of clean hardwood in the dust.

"You're my friend," Billy said now, "Mine! And no one else's!"

Sam, thinking that maybe the older boy wouldn't hurt him if he played along, nodded his head.

"Yeah! Yeah! Okay, I'm you're friend. Only yours."

That didn't seem to placate Billy and he lunged forward, scissors aimed for the child's face.

"Ah!" Sam cried out and raised an arm to block the blow.

A deep, malicious chortle bubbled up from Billy's throat. He had only been feigning.

"No," he said to Sam, "I know you're lying. If you won't be my friend and my friend alone, you won't be anyone's."

The eight-year old stared with wide, frightened eyes as Billy lunged again; this time he wouldn't stop.

SPN

Dean grinned wildly as the glass window cracked beneath his barrage and he continued his assault with renewed vigor.

I'm coming Sammy, he thought, I'm not going to let anything hurt you.

"Dean," Mark hissed in his ear, "We're making too much noise- a teacher's coming!"

The eldest Winchester ignored his friend and slammed the glass paperweight that had come from Mrs. Marquis classroom with so much force that his entire arm vibrated up to his shoulder and his hand went numb.

The paperweight fell from the twelve-year old's hand as the window was smashed, the shards of glass falling inward. With little regard for the glass still clinging to the window frame, Dean shoved his hand inside the classroom and wrenched at the turn knob for the deadbolt lock.

It didn't move. Not an inch.

Now he could see into the room too and saw his brother cowering at the far end, near the coat hooks and a figure- that appeared to be flickering in and out of existence- looming over him, a pair of scissors clutched in one hand.

"SAMMY!" Dean yelled but his brother didn't even acknowledge his presence, his eyes fixed to the figure threatening him.

"Young man, what do you think you are doing?" a stern female voice demanded from the far end of the hall, coming closer but Dean ignored the teacher. Instead he pulled even harder on the locking mechanism, struggling to open the door.

"SAMMY!" Dean snarled and slammed his body against the door, trying to force it open now.

SPN

Sam felt as though he were rooted to the spot, unable to move though every nerve ending in his brain was screaming at him to run.

He watched Billy lunge at him this second time, murder in his eyes, as though in slow motion. Sam was deaf to everything but the beating of his own heart, a rhythm that seemed all too soon about to end forever.

"SAMMY!"

The voice tore through the silence and rattled in the eight-year old's eardrums, shaking him with its horror and sense of urgency.

Billy seemed to have heard the heart-wrenching cry as well and froze as though suddenly turned to stone. His face, still twisted in a cruel rictus, fist still wrapped around the cold metal scissors, Billy's form flickered once, twice, before vanishing completely.

A sudden crash and hurried footsteps announced Dean's entry into the room, the door unlocking itself as Billy disappeared.

"SAM! SAMMY! Sammy," Dean called and ran across the room to his sibling, dropping to his knees beside the boy.

The eight-year old blinked slowly as though just waking up, as the trance around him lifted.

"Dean? Dean!" Sam cried and launched himself at his brother, wrapping his skinny arms around Dean's waist in a tight hug.

Now that Billy's influence was gone, Sam began to grasp the situation in its entirety. He began to pant for air, his eyes welling with tears, crying.

SPN

Dean leaned over his sibling as Sam huddled against him, relieved and terrified at the same time.

"Dean! A teacher's coming!"

The seventh-grader ignored his friend as Jerome peered into the room, announcing the female teacher's impending arrival.

"I- I'm s-sorry," Sam whimpered, shaking as he cried.

Dean only held his brother tighter.

"It's okay, it's okay," he murmured, "I won't let that bastard hurt you."

"What on earth is going on here?" the teacher pushed her way past the group of seventh- and third-graders and into the room with the Winchesters.

Dean lifted his head and set his jaw.

"It was me," he told her, "It's my fault."

The teacher, an older woman with white hair and a face seamed with age, flared her nostrils at the boys.

"We'll see what Principal Allen has to say about this," she said, "Breaking school property…"

Dean stood, helping his brother as he did so. He didn't know why Billy had vanished as he had but he guessed that maybe he had heard the teacher coming and had been scared away.

The old teacher sniffed, seeming not to notice Sam's tears and led the brothers out of the classroom.

"The rest of you can all leave," she snapped at Sam's three classmates and Dean's friends, "Go back outside!"

With backwards glances, the group obeyed the teacher and took the double doors at the end of the hall to the yard.

Dean, still gripping his brother as though he expected Billy to pop up any second and attack- and who was to say he wouldn't- followed the teacher without a word.

Sam, now that the initial shock had worn off, seemed to be recovering from the attack quickly. Though he still clung to Dean- not that the older sibling minded- he sniffed a couple of times before wiping his nose on his sleeve and his shaking eased.

The teacher led the Winchesters straight to the office, opening the door with such force that it bounced off the opposite wall, startling Edna sitting behind her large receptionist's desk.

"Clara, what's wrong?" the receptionist asked, glancing down at the two Winchesters.

"These boys have vandalized and damaged school property," the teacher announced in an offended tone, looking down her nose at Dean and his brother.

The twelve-year old didn't miss the confused expression that crossed the receptionist's face but didn't react.

"I'll let Principal Allen know," the receptionist assured her fellow staff member.

The teacher nodded, sniffed, and placed her hands on her narrow hips.

"You boys can sit down," the receptionist told the Winchesters and Dean gratefully took a seat in one of the now familiar chairs outside the principal's office, Sam slumping down beside him.

RING-RING-RING

The chiming of the bell announcing the start of school made Dean jump. He'd completely forgotten that class wasn't even in session and the events of the morning- which seemed to have lasted much longer than it should have- surely had only occurred within fifteen or twenty minutes.

Clara, the teacher who seemed so intent on bringing the brothers to justice, didn't move when the bell sounded, causing the receptionist to look up at her.

"Ms. Nesbit, the bell rang," she said, "Your students-"

Clara all but glared at the receptionist, as though she believed the other woman would let Sam and Dean go free once she left the office.

The door opening caused all four heads to turn in its direction and Principal Allen himself stepped inside.

"Clara," he greeted, before, "What seems to be the problem?"

"These two hooligans have destroyed school property!" the teacher almost shouted.

The principal raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"They broke the window on the door to classroom-" Clara began but Principal Allen interrupted her.

"Yes, I saw. And you say these two are responsible?"

"I caught them red-handed!" Ms. Nesbit added, her chest puffed out proudly.

Principal Allen sighed, "Alright, Clara. I'll deal with them. You're students are going to be wondering where you are by now."

For a moment the elderly teacher didn't move, but then the principal laid a gentle yet firm hand on her shoulder and steered her out into the hallway, closing the door behind her.

Dean held his breath, ready for the tirade.

Principal Allen turned and sighed, "I hope she didn't give you boys too much trouble. She's an old battle-axe but she's a superior teacher. She just get's very passionate about the rules."

The seventh-grader nodded, shocked that he wasn't getting yelled at.

"You're not mad?" Dean ventured.

To his surprise Principal Allen shook his head, "Keeping a classroom boarded up and locked… this was bound to happen sooner or later. What I want to know, though, is what possessed you to break into that classroom?"

Dean swallowed, not sure exactly what he should say.

"We…uh… I heard about this thing that happened in there a long time ago… and I wanted to see if it was true," he stammered, hoping Principal Allen would believe him.

The man's lips thinned and he nodded.

"Of course," he muttered, more to himself than the Winchesters or Edna the receptionist, "It was only a matter of time before a student was bold enough to actually go inside."

"Principal Allen?" Dean asked.

The principal looked up at Dean as though just remembering he was there.

"Are we still in trouble?" the seventh-grader asked and Principal Allen sighed once again, shaking his head.

"I'll have the custodian patch up the broken window," he said, "But you must promise me something. Both of you."

Dean felt Sam grow tense beside him and he felt his own eyes widen in anticipation.

"Do not try and get into that classroom again."

SPN

Sam listened with mounting horror as Dean told him everything his friend Mark had about the boy, Billy Jenkins, and what he'd done all those years ago.

Walking beside his older brother, down the brightly lit school hallway, listening to the muffled sounds of teachers and children as they passed classrooms on their way to Mrs. Marquis' room, it seemed hard to believe that the boy he'd believed was his friend was actually dead, a ghost and an evil one at that.

As Dean spoke though, some of the curiosities about Billy started to make sense to Sam. He now knew why Billy had never followed him inside at the end of recess, why he seemed to move silently and so quickly, seeming to just appear in the trees that bordered the schoolyard.

All too soon they arrived at the third-grade class and Sam felt his heart flutter fearfully in his chest.

"Don't leave me," he whimpered, feeling tears well up in his eyes.

"Sammy," Dean murmured, "I have to go to class. I'll be lucky if Mr. Powell doesn't give me detention or something for being so late."

Sam stared up at his brother with wide eyes, "Please."

"It'll be okay, Sammy," Dean tried to reassure him, "As soon as the bell rings for recess, I'll come here and get you."

Sam lifted a hand to his mouth and bit his thumbnail nervously, "Promise?"

Dean nodded, "Promise."

Sam let out a long breath, trying to calm himself.

"Besides," Dean said, "I don't think Billy's gonna bother you again."

Sam looked up at his sibling sharply, "You think so?"

"Old Ms. Nesbit scared him away, remember?" Dean said and although Sam didn't remember that- it was all a bit fuzzy after Billy had turned on him- he nodded anyway.

"I'll be here at the bell," Dean assured him once again before turning and heading towards the staircase that would take him to his own classroom.

Reaching out a shaky hand, Sam pushed open the door to his classroom and stepped inside.

It was as though someone had thrown a switch. As soon as the door opened all talk stopped and the entire class went silent, eyes turning to stare at Sam as he stepped inside.

Mrs. Marquis, noticing the unusual quiet, stood up, "Sam, good to see you, we've just broken into groups to work on the science projects we talked about yesterday."

The eight-year old felt his face grow hot with embarrassment and fear. Suddenly, a ghost attack seemed trivial compared to torture of having to work with a group of children who despised him.

"Mrs. Marquis?" a boy's voice spoke up in the silence and Sam looked to see Bryce sitting with Ethan, the large boy's hand in the air.

"Yes Bryce?" the teacher asked.

"Can Sam be in our group?"

The eight-year old felt his mouth gape open. Was Bryce- one of the boys who appeared to enjoy tormenting him with cruel names- actually asking to work with him? It had to be some kind of joke. Maybe Bryce and Ethan just wanted to make fun of him some more.

Mrs. Marquis smiled, "That's very nice of you, Bryce. Sam, why don't you join Bryce and Ethan?"

The eight-year old shook his head but the woman had turned away and wasn't looking at him anymore.

Sam peered across the classroom to the two boys but they weren't sneering or snickering, instead they were waiting on him with expectant looks on their faces.

Woodenly, the youngest Winchester made his way towards the other two boys, his palms sweaty and his face red with embarrassment, aware that it would make his scars stand out even more.

He dropped into an empty seat and waited for the hissed names to come his way.

But they didn't.

Instead, Bryce leaned in close to him, "Did you really see the ghost?"

Stunned, Sam nodded, "Y-Yeah… I did."

Both Bryce and Ethan stared at him with something like awe.

"And he really tried to kill you?" Ethan asked conspiratorially.

Again, Sam nodded.

"Wow," Ethan said, "You've gotta tell us about it!"

SPN

Dean opened the door to Mr. Powell's sixth-grade classroom only wide enough to squeeze inside. As he entered the room the teacher spoke, "Nice of you to decide to join us, Dean."

The twelve-year old grimaced but didn't look in his teacher's direction. Instead, Dean made his way to his seat as though nothing had been said.

As he passed Corey's desk Dean saw the other boy glaring daggers at him and felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach- he hadn't spoken at all to the other boy since the first day of school and Corey had only been anything but friendly to him- but decided that any amends-making could wait until recess.

Around him, Dean's friends were giving him knowing glances clearly eager to ask what had happened in Principal Allen's office but that of course, would have to wait as well, as Mr. Powell continued with whatever he'd been talking about before the elder Winchester had entered the classroom.

The twelve-year old tried to listen to what his teacher was talking about but his thoughts kept drifting to his brother. He couldn't believe how close Sammy had come to actually dying this morning- didn't want to believe it- and didn't know if this was actually the end of the ghostly Billy Jenkins. As far as Dean knew, the only time the spirit had been in the school all week had been about a half-hour earlier, when he'd taken Sam to the classroom where he'd stabbed that other boy to death years ago. He didn't know if Billy would just stay in the woods at the edge of the schoolyard or if he'd go after Sammy again.

But Sam wouldn't fall for Billy's tricks again, would he? No, Dean believed his brother was smart and he wouldn't allow himself to be led astray by the evil ghost again. Sam, if he had any sense at all, would stay as far away from the copse of trees that bordered the yard as possible. Sam had been terrified when Dean had seen him huddled against the far wall of that abandoned classroom, and Dean knew that his brother would keep a wary eye out for anything that could even resemble Billy Jenkins.

SPN

Sam could barely believe how Bryce and Ethan were acting. There was no staring, no name-calling, no sniggering. They instead talked about the science project they were supposed to be working on though the eight-year old could see they really wanted to talk about the ghost attack. Even the way they were looking at Sam was different; now they were wide-eyed with excitement and something akin to awe.

"Do you want to hang out with us at recess?" Ethan asked, "I mean, you don't have to but-"

Sam gave the two other boys a nervous smile, "I'd like that."

W

Sam closed the classroom door behind him and headed down the quiet hallway on his way to the washroom. He could hear the muffled sounds of teachers and students talking in the other classrooms he passed and the sound was oddly comforting, letting him know that he wasn't alone.

The eight-year old was still on edge, still spooked by his near-death encounter with Billy the ghost and the idea of being all alone frightened him more than it should have.

As he passed the classroom Billy Jenkin's had led him to, Sam noticed that once again the door's window had been covered in plywood and now the doorknob had a padlock attached to it, a further deterrent to curious students.

Sam shivered and tore his gaze away from the classroom, looking instead at the friendly, cheerful 'WELCOME TO KINDERGARTEN' sign on the door directly across from it.

Hurrying down the hall, the eight-year old made it to the boys' washroom and stepped inside. Along one wall was a row of sinks and mirrors while the other was lined with toilets inside stalls of grey, laminate-covered pressboard to allow for some privacy. Sam went into the stall closest to the bathroom door and sat down.

He'd only been sitting for about ten or fifteen seconds when a sound startled him. One of the faucets at the row of sinks had been turned on. Leaning down, Sam peered underneath the stall door and saw that he was alone in the bathroom. Suddenly, a second gush of water sounded, then a third, and a fourth, and then all five taps were flowing.

Sam's heart skipped a beat but he told himself that it wasn't anything, just something wrong with the pipes.

Then, Sam noticed a pink, viscous liquid seeping closer and closer to the toilet upon which he was sitting: the soap dispensers were leaking.

The eight-year old swallowed thickly, jumping and letting out a yelp of fear when the other four stall doors began banging shut repeatedly.

CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!

Sam didn't even try to convince himself that any of this was normal this time. He knew what was going on and he was scared out of his mind. Sliding off the toilet seat, he yanked his pants back up, unlatched his door and ran out of the bathroom, slipping in the soap now coating the floor and almost falling.

Regardless of the rules, Sam bolted down the hallway to his class. Only once stopping when an invisible force shoved him sideways into door of the boarded-up classroom hard enough to shake its frame. The Kindergarten teacher across the hall heard nothing. Sam staggered to his feet and continued running until he reached the third-grade classroom. He flung open the door, and hurried inside, causing his teacher to look up sharply.

"Sam, are you all right?" Ms. Marquis asked in a worried tone, "You're pale as a sheet… and you're shaking!"

"I- I'm fine," the eight-year old stammered, slamming the door behind him and leaning his back against it as though to bar the invisible force that had attacked him in the bathroom and hallway entry into the room.

"Are you sure? Maybe you should go see the nurse," the teacher continued but Sam shook his head.

"I- I'm okay, really," he tried to smile and it came out more of a grimace than anything.

Ms. Marquis hesitated, clearly debating on whether she should just send him down to the office anyway, when Sam moved into the classroom, taking his seat across from Bryce and Ethan to show his teacher that he was really okay.

The third-grade teacher said nothing more but Sam had the feeling that she would be keeping a close eye on him for the next while to make sure that he wasn't sick.

Returning his attention to the task at hand- the science project- Sam ignored the expectant looks the two other boys were giving him and shook his head.

SPN

As soon as the bell rang for recess Dean was out of the classroom and shoving his way down the hall to the staircase that led to the first floor.

"Dean! Hey, Dean! Wait up!" he heard Mark calling his name but he ignored the other boy, he needed to get to his brother and besides, the others would catch up.

The twelve-year old almost ran down the stairs, worried that Sam would be upset if he wasn't outside his classroom just as he'd promised he would be.

Jostling through the crowd of kids heading towards the doors and outside to a half-hour of freedom before being forced back into the school building, Dean spied his brother standing against the wall beside his classroom.

"Sammy!" Dean called and the younger boy looked up, smiled and even gave a little wave.

Dean returned the gestures and headed straight for his sibling. His smile faded though, when he saw the two boys who had been picking on Sam all week.

"Hey!" the twelve-year old growled angrily, about to tell the other boys to hit the road and leave his brother alone when he realized that Sam was still smiling and talking to the boys as though they'd been friends for years.

"Hi Dean," Sam said spoke up as he approached, "You remember Bryce and Ethan?"

The seventh-grader nodded, taking in the two boys who glanced at him with sheepish expressions.

"Yeah, I remember," he muttered, "So, what are you talking about?"

Sam beamed up at Dean, "They like Superman too! Just like me! Bryce has almost all the comics. He says they are really cool!"

Dean nodded, "Uh, that's great, Sammy."

The eight-year old frowned, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Sammy," his brother assured him, "I just didn't expect… this."

"We're sorry about earlier," Ethan told Dean, "We shouldn't have said those things to Sam."

Dean looked at the other boy, Bryce.

"He's actually pretty cool."

The twelve-year old nodded, "Yeah. He is."

Suddenly Dean was pushed to one side by a group of third-graders from Sam's class as they surged towards his brother, firing questions out at the younger Winchester.

"Did you really see the ghost?" "What did it look like?" "Were you scared?" "How'd you get away?" "Did you know it was a ghost?"

Dean stood still, shocked at the group of eight-year olds surrounding his brother who now seemed like the most popular kid in his class.

"Hey Dean!"

The older Winchester glanced around and saw Corey making his way towards him and he groaned inwardly.

"Look, I can explain-" Dean began, ready to get chewed out for ignoring the other boy all week.

"Did your little brother actually see the ghost of Billy Jenkins?"

Dean blinked, "Uh… Yeah, he did. How'd you find out about that?"

Corey rolled his eyes at Dean as though he'd been living under a rock for the past week.

"Nothing stays secret long in this school," Corey explained, then, "Aiden told me about it."

As though on cue, Aiden, along with Glenn, Jerome and Mark appeared.

"Will you please tell us what happened with Principal Allen?" Glenn asked, practically begging.

Dean laughed out loud at his friend, "Let's go outside. C'mon."

"C'mon Sammy," Dean called to his brother and Sam instantly started after him.

As they left the school building, curious third-graders peeled away from the younger Winchester's side until Sam stood with only Bryce, Ethan and the girl, Tara.

Dean, along with his friends- including Corey- joined the group of younger students and told them what Principal Allen had told him.

"Do you think he knows about the ghost?" Glenn asked.

Dean shrugged, "Maybe. Who knows? I'm just glad I didn't get suspected or something."

"Um… what exactly did happen with the ghost?" Bryce asked, directing his question at Sam, "You said you'd tell us at recess."

"Hey, if he doesn't-" Dean began but Sam shook his head.

"It's okay, Dean. I promised to tell them."

The eldest Winchester listened as his brother relayed everything that had happened with Billy, how he'd seemed nice, if a bit strange at first, with his quick-as-a-blink movements and odd slang, how he never went inside at the end of recess and how he was always in the trees at the very start of the break and how he'd get really, really close to Sam and then the eight-year old seemed to lose time, not know what was happening until the bell rang to go inside-

"Sounds like Billy was using his ghost mojo on you," Mark interrupted, "My brother, Eric, says that ghosts can do that."

Dean thought back to Sam's strange behaviour the past few days and Mark's explanation didn't seem all that far-fetched anymore. It seemed as though Billy was really trying to force Sam to believe he was his only friend and no one else could be. He only wished that those hurtful names Sam's classmates had called him had been a part of Billy's mojo or whatever but Dean decided not to dwell on that, the kids seemed contrite and ready to be friends with his brother now. He just hoped that Sam wasn't going to be interesting for a week or so before going back to being the freaky new kid.

Once Mark was finished, Sam continued his tale, describing how upset Billy had been the day after the younger boy had played basketball with Dean and his friends instead of hanging out with him. He then told his listeners all about the events of that very morning, Dean paying close attention because even he didn't know everything that had happened between Sam and Billy.

The eight-year old paused and sucked in a shaky breath, "Billy's mad at me and I… I don't think he's gonna leave me alone."

Dean frowned, concern and confusion suddenly welling up within him, "What do you mean, Sammy? Billy can't get to you, he stays in those trees."

To emphasis his point, the elder Winchester pointed to the tree line across the yard.

Sam shook his head, his eyes welling with tears as though it were only he and Dean standing in the schoolyard.

"Billy… I'm sure it was him, he attacked me when I was in the bathroom."

"WHAT!" Dean exclaimed, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sam shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. Tara surprisingly laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Billy turned on the water and squirted soap all over the floor and made the stall doors open and close," Sam muttered, his head lowered, bangs hanging in front of his face, "And I got scared so I ran out. He pushed me into the door of that classroom, the one where he killed that other boy-"

"Did you see him?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head, "But it was Billy! I know it was."

The older brother looked to his friends as though they could come up with an explanation.

"But I thought Billy never came into the school."

The others were just as lost as Dean.

"Sammy's not safe here," Dean spoke again, thinking out loud, "Not even inside the school."

"I could ask Eric what we can do to keep Billy away," Mark suggested, "He'll have something that can help us."

Dean hesitated, bit his lip then nodded.

Mark wouldn't be able to talk to his brother until the end of the school day and hopefully he would have something that could help keep Sammy safe from Billy the ghost but what about today?

Unconsciously Dean reached out and drew Sam closer to him. He didn't think he could wait until Mark had a chance to speak to his brother to know if the ghost was finally gone and Sam was safe for good.

Sam, as though reading his brother's thoughts, spoke up.

"I could tell Ms. Marquis my leg's hurting real bad," he suggested, "Get the school nurse to send me home."

Dean glanced down at his brother, thinking hard.

"I could do it," Sam continued, "Get Bobby to pick me up."

The twelve-year old raised his head and looked to his friends and Sammy's classmates.

"Okay," Dean agreed, if only to keep his sibling out of school and out of Billy's clutches, at least for one day.

SPN

Sam lay on the couch in the nurse's office, fake tears of pain welling up in his eyes.

Nurse Helen, a chubby woman with curly black hair and light blue eyes, gave the eight-year old a sympathetic look, "Your Dad will be here soon, Sam."

The young Winchester nodded and bit his lip to hold back a smile.

Dean had brought him into the office fifteen minutes earlier, practically carrying him to make it seem as though the pain in his leg was very bad. Sam had shed crocodile tears while Dean had explained to the receptionist about his injured leg and said that Bobby told them to call if the pain became unbearable.

Edna, the receptionist, had called the mechanic as soon as she had seen the eight-year old's tear-stained face and told the boys that their father was on his way.

Dean had wanted to stay with Sam but Nurse Helen had shooed him out of her office once the eight-year old was in her care.

Now Sam just had to wait for Bobby to show up and keep pretending he was hurting. The latter wasn't too difficult to do, as Sam only had to think about how terrified of Billy he was and the tears welled freely in his eyes.

He hoped Dean's friend really knew how to get rid of ghosts because he didn't think he'd be able to come to school again if he knew that Billy was still out for him. Not when he was just starting to make friends and for the first time ever he didn't feel like a freak in the classroom.

"Son?"

Sam turned his head and saw Bobby silhouetted in the doorway of the nurse's office.

The eight-year old blinked his red eyes and sat up on his elbows.

"How're you feeling?" the new father asked.

"O-Okay," Sam stammered, "My l-leg's hurting real bad."

Bobby nodded, "I brought your medicine. I thought you could take it and then head back to class once you're feeling better."

Sam shook his head, real tears forming in his eyes, "No! I want to go home! Please!"

He hadn't meant to sound so desperate, to beg but he didn't want to stay at Sioux Falls Elementary with a ghost that was out to kill him.

Bobby's expression turned to one of alarm and so did Nurse Helen's, who was sitting at her desk, reading a celebrity magazine.

"All right," the new father said in a soothing tone, "Okay, we'll go home."

Sam choked back a sob and slid off the couch, limping to Bobby's side.

The mechanic put a hand on the boy's shoulder and led him out of the nurse's presence and into the office.

"Feel better soon," Edna called from behind her desk as Bobby and Sam made their way into the hallway.

SPN

Dean was on pins and needles for the rest of the day. He knew that once Sam was home with Bobby he'd be safe but he was terrified of what might happen tomorrow- Friday- if Mark's brother couldn't help them.

"Dean? Dean!" Mr. Powell's voice startled the boy and the twelve-year old glanced around, seeing his classmates, except for his friends, were staring at him.

"Uh, yeah?" the older Winchester asked, trying to sound as though he had been paying attention to whatever his teacher had been talking about.

"I hope you were daydreaming about the relationship between the natives peoples and the first settlers in this country," Mr. Powell said in an irritated tone.

Dean nodded; sure, of course he was.

The seventh-grade teacher gave him one last warning look before continuing with his lecture.

Dean continued to think about his brother.

W

"Don't worry, Dean," Mark assured him as the two of them waited outside the front doors of the school to be picked up, "Eric will know what to do."

Dean nodded, "I hope so."

The twelve-year old bade goodbye to his friend as Bobby's pickup truck pulled up along the curb.

"How's Sammy?" Dean asked as soon as he was inside the cab.

"Oh, better," Bobby told him, "Hung out on the couch for a while watching TV. Now he's in bed."

Dean nodded. Wow Sammy, he thought, you're really milking it. He guessed his brother had to make it seem like he was really in agony or Bobby might bring him back to school.

"Karen's momma," Bobby began, "Is coming for a visit tomorrow. She's flying in and I've gotta pick her up at the airport."

Dean nodded. That meant that Sam would have to go to school tomorrow. He hoped that Mark had a way to get rid of Billy before then.

SPN

Sam sat up when he heard the front door open and two sets of footsteps enter the house. Dean was home.

Knowing that he couldn't go running to greet his brother or else risk Bobby's suspicion, Sam nestled back under his blankets and flipped through the pages of a Superman comic book he'd been reading.

He heard his brother's footsteps coming up the stairs and closed the book, looking up expectantly.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said quietly as he slipped into the room, closing the door quickly behind him.

"Do you know how to stop Billy?" Sam asked anxiously.

Dean shook his head, "Not yet. But I gave Mark Bobby's number so he can call me when he does."

Sam nodded and felt tears once again prickle his eyes.

"Dean," he muttered, his voice thick, "Thanks."

"Don't worry about it, Squirt," the twelve-year old plopped down on the bed beside him, ducking slightly so he wouldn't hit his head on the top bunk, "We'll figure this out. Billy won't hurt you."

Sam leaned against his brother for a moment, closing his eyes.

Everything was going to be okay. Dean's friend was going to find a way to get rid of Billy and he'd be safe.

SPN

Dean couldn't help but pick at the tuna casserole Karen had reheated in the oven for dinner but he couldn't help it, he was waiting on Mark's call.

Maybe Eric didn't know anything, Dean thought doubtfully; maybe Mark lost my number or I wrote it out wrong or, or, or-

The ringing of the telephone in the den sent the twelve-year old bounding out of his chair before either Bobby or Karen could react.

"I'll get it!" Dean shouted and grabbed the receiver from its cradle, nearly smashing it against his ear.

"Mark? Is that you? What do we have to do?"

"Hey Dean," his friend answered, "You okay? You sound like you've been running."

"I'm fine," the elder Winchester replied, "How do we get rid of Billy?"

"Eric said that we could bless the school," Mark explained.

"Bless it? How?" Dean asked, peering into the kitchen to make sure he wasn't being overheard.

Sam was talking animatedly to Bobby and Karen about some Superman comic he'd been reading, making both of them laugh.

Dean smiled at his brother.

"Eric said you need to say this prayer- he gave me a copy of one he found on the Internet- and burn sage at all four corners of the school," Mark explained, "It's usually used for houses but he thinks it will work for us too."

Dean nodded, "How are we supposed to burn sage in the school without being caught?"

"I'm going to tell my Mom and Dad that we have to be at school really early tomorrow morning to work on a project for Mr. Powell," Mark told him, "Aiden, Glenn, Jerome and Corey are gonna say that too."

Dean's eyebrows rose, "They're coming too?"

"Yeah," Mark said as though surprised by Dean's surprise, "Of course. No one wants anything to happen to your brother."

The twelve-year old's throat tightened with emotion.

"Thanks," he muttered, trying not to sound like a sap.

"Hey, if Billy hadn't gone after Sam, he could have grabbed another kid," Mark commented, "One who doesn't have you as a brother."

Dean chuckled, "Okay, do I have to do anything?"

"Just see if you can get some sage," Mark told him, "And a lighter or matches if you've got 'em."

Dean nodded, "I can do that."

"We'll get rid of Billy," Mark assured him, "He won't hurt anymore kids."

Dean hung up the phone and returned to the table.

"Who was that?" Karen asked curiously.

"Mark," Dean answered truthfully, "From school."

"We have to get together to work on a project for Mr. Powell tomorrow," Dean continued, lying, "Early."

"How early?" Bobby asked.

Sam, said nothing, he just shoveled tuna and noodles into his mouth, all the while keeping a keen eye on his brother.

"Seven," Dean answered with a grimace.

"Really?" Bobby said uncertainly, "What kind of project is this?"

"Uh…" Dean hesitated, caught in his fib.

"How long is Grandma going to stay?" Sam asked, taking the Singers' attention away from Dean.

"Just the weekend, Sweetheart," Karen told the eight-year old.

Sam's question seemed enough distraction for the Singers and both he and Dean continued asking Bobby and Karen about their new grandmother; the reason for the early ride to school long forgotten.

SPN

"Dean?" Sam whispered as he stared up at the underside of his brother's bed, "Are you awake?"

"Yeah, Squirt," came the tired reply.

"Do you think it's really gonna help?" Sam asked anxiously, "The sage, I mean, and that spell."

"It's not a spell, Sammy," Dean corrected gently, "It's a blessing to clean the school or whatever."

"Oh," Sam muttered, holding the teddy bear and stuffed rabbit closer to his chest, "But it will work, won't it? It'll get rid of Billy?"

"It will, Sammy," Dean assured him, "Don't worry about that."

"Okay," the eight-year old muttered, "Good night, Dean."

"Night, Shrimp."

SPN

Dean opened his eyes to the darkness of the Singer household at nighttime.

Holding his breath he listened for the sound of his brother. Sam was asleep, his breathing slow and steady.

Although Dean didn't have to wait until his sibling was asleep, he could get downstairs and into the kitchen a lot quicker and easier without him.

Besides, after the day Sam had had, he needed a good night's rest.

Sitting up, Dean carefully slid over to the side of his bed, moving onto his hands and knees and slowly descending the ladder, careful not to wake his brother.

Once his feet touched the worn hardwood floor, Dean felt confident that Mark's brother knew what he was talking about and that his idea would work to banish Billy or exorcise him or do whatever it did to unwanted ghosts.

Creeping from the room, Dean saw that all the lights were off on the main floor and that down the hallway, the door to the master bedroom, where Karen and Bobby slept, was closed.

Turning to the staircase and grabbing the banister, Dean descended the steps cautiously. The last thing he needed was to fall down the stairs and break his neck.

As soon as he was on the first floor, Dean walked stealthily towards the kitchen, almost silent in the dark house, grateful to the time he and Sam had spent with a foster family where children were meant to be seen and not heard for teaching him to move with catlike quiet.

Dean wasn't quite tall enough to reach the cupboards above the counters so he grabbed one of the chairs from the table, intending to use it as a stepladder.

The legs of the chair rubbed against the linoleum floor and let out a long screech. Dean froze and listened for any sound from overhead. He wasn't really worried about getting into trouble. If Karen or Bobby did find him, he'd just tell them he was hungry and was looking for a late-night snack.

Carefully opening the cupboards, Dean searched for Karen's herbs and spices, biting his lip.

There! Above the stove was where she kept the seasonings. Now all Dean had to do was find the sage.

The twelve-year old squinted in the darkness, attempting to read the labels on the bottles of herbs. Reaching into the cupboard, Dean pulled out a small bottle and opened it, smelling its contents. Sage.

Setting the bottle down on the counter, Dean closed the cupboard quietly and moved the chair back to its place at the table. Now he just needed a lighter or some matches.

Pulling open the drawers, the boy easily found the 'junk' drawer and quickly rifled through it, grabbing a large box of matches and shaking a handful out onto his palm.

Picking up the bottle of sage, Dean replaced the box of matches and closed the drawer, his heart skipping a beat. Tomorrow he'd help get rid of a dangerous spirit and keep his brother safe.

As quiet as a shadow, the twelve year old made his way back upstairs and into the bedroom he shared with his brother, only pausing to hide the sage and matches in the front pocket of his backpack before climbing the ladder to his bunk and pulling the blankets up to his chin.

SPN

Sam could barely keep his eyes open as Bobby drove his pickup truck down the quiet streets of Sioux Falls at six forty-five the next morning.

The mechanic hadn't asked again what the project was about, only commenting that he hoped this wouldn't become a regular thing, driving the boys to school during the wee hours of the morning. Dean promised that it wouldn't, meeting Sam's gaze as he spoke.

At this time in the morning, there were only a few staff cars in the parking lot of the elementary school which was good for two reasons: one, was that there wouldn't be many teachers snooping around to see what the boys were doing and two, that meant the doors would be open to allow the seventh-graders entry into the school.

Bobby pulled up to the curb in front of Sioux Falls Elementary and both boys clambered quickly from the cab.

"Now remember," the mechanic said, leaning towards the open passenger side door, "I'm off to the airport today to pick up Karen's momma but I'll be here at the end of the day, the usual time."

"Okay Bobby!" Dean called as he and Sam already made their way towards the back of the school, "See you later!"

Sam followed his brother at a jog, his heart racing in his chest. His fingers and toes felt all tingly, like they had pins and needles but not as painful.

"Are they here yet?" the eight-year old asked, looking around for Dean's friends.

"Dunno," his brother answered, "But they'll be here. Don't worry."

The brothers tried the front doors to the school and found that they were still locked tight. Just as well, Dean didn't want to have to sneak past the office anyway.

"Let's go around back," he suggested and Sam followed.

This is it, Sam thought; Billy's gonna be gone and I don't have to worry about him anymore.

As he and Dean rounded the corner of the school building, Sam's gaze was automatically drawn to the line of trees at the edge of the yard and he swallowed hard.

"Dean," Sam breathed and reached out for his brother's hand.

"Hey!" Dean called, waving his free hand in the direction of his friends who were at the basketball court, shooting some hoops while they waited.

"Hi!" Mark called back and the older boys came hurrying towards them.

"Did you get the sage and a lighter?" Mark asked as Jerome, Glenn, Aiden and Corey all pulled their assorted containers of the herb out and lighters or books of matches.

"Got the sage and some matches," Dean replied and slipped his backpack off.

"How're you doing, Sam?"

The eight-year old looked up at the question. Mark was looking at him with a concerned expression.

"I'll be okay once I know Billy's gone," he told the older boy.

Mark nodded, "No doubt. Don't worry, Eric said this should work to get rid of him."

Dean straightened, holding the sage stolen from Karen's kitchen and the matches.

"Here's the blessing," Mark handed Sam a folded piece of lined paper, "You have to say it while you're burning the sage, okay?"

"Do we know where we're going?" Dean asked as Sam looked over the blessing, trying to memorize it so he wouldn't get anything wrong.

"I'll go to the front of the school," Mark offered, "If you and Sam want to take the back… by the classroom…"

The boy hesitated and looked sheepish, "No one else wanted to and it seems only right."

Sam saw that the others boys as well had guilty expressions on their faces. Dean however, shrugged and said that'd be fine.

"Corey and Jerome are taking the top floor and Glenn is going to the basement," Mark told them.

"The basement, really?" Dean asked and Glenn nodded, "I had to help Mr. Krakowski bring up the bags of salt for the sidewalks last winter when I got detention."

"Okay," Dean replied, sounding as though he was glad he'd been chosen to stay on the main floor near the abandoned classroom and not have to venture into the school's basement.

"C'mon Sammy," he said and the younger brother followed obediently.

The back doors to the school were unlocked. Dean and Sam slipped inside, followed by the older boys, opening the door only far enough to pass through and closing it quietly.

As Dean started for the classroom where Billy had taken Sam, the eight-year old found himself rooted to the spot, just inside the doorway, scared.

"Sam? Sammy?"

"Here," Sam replied in a squeak as his brother called his name.

"Sammy, hey, its okay," Dean returned to his side and put a comforting arm around his shoulders, "I'll be with you the whole time."

"Do we have to go so close to it?" the eight-year old asked, his palms slick with nervous sweat.

"What? No, of course not," Dean assured him, "We don't have to go near the classroom. We could, uh, stay here and do the blessing. Do you want to do that?"

Sam nodded eagerly, relief washing through him.

Dean smiled confidently and Sam returned the gesture, if a little more sickly.

"Alright," Dean said in a serious tone, "You have the blessing?"

Sam nodded and opened the folded paper. He watched as Dean twisted the lid off the bottle of sage, holding it with one hand while he took a match and struck it against the painted cinderblock wall, causing a small orange flame to blossom on its tip. Holding the end of the match, Dean put the burning tip into the bottle of sage.

"Okay, Sammy, you're on."

The eight-year old felt as though his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth with cement and he had to force the muscle down before he could speak:

"S-Spirit in my p-presence," he began stammering at first, "Y-You are unwelcome a-and unwanted."

Sam paused for a moment and Dean made a 'go on' motion with his free hand.

"In the n-name of Jesus Christ an-and His a-angels I b-beseech you to l-leave this d-dwelling and its in-inhabitants. I beseech you to leave in peace and go to your eternal rest."

As Sam spoke, his voice began stronger, held more feeling as though he felt he was speaking directly to Billy.

"You may never return to this place to torment the living! You are forevermore banished and forbidden from seeking entrance here! Go now and seek whatever rest may keep, in the name of Jesus Christ and all His angels!"

The eight-year old looked up at his brother when he felt Dean's hand on his shoulder.

"I think you nailed it, Sammy," Dean told him, the scent of burnt sage thick in the air around them, "I don't think Billy's coming back."

Sam grinned at his brother, feeling as though an enormous weight had been lifted from him.

Billy was gone, banished, and never coming back.

W

"He's really gone?" Tara asked Sam as the students of Ms. Marquis' third-grade class crowded around the coat hooks, putting away their backpacks.

The boy nodded, "For good. He won't be coming back."

"Did you see him?" Bryce asked, "I mean, did he appear and scream or shrivel up or explode?"

Sam shook his head, "No, I didn't see him, didn't hear anything…"

Was Billy really gone? Nothing had happened after he'd said the blessing and Dean had burnt the sage, nothing to indicate that it had affected Billy at all.

"Bryce," Tara scowled, "Really? That sort of stuff doesn't really happen. That's just for the movies."

"Yeah," Ethan chimed in, "Haven't you ever seen Ghostbusters?"

"Well, yeah, I was just thinking," Bryce began but stopped when he caught sight of Sam's face.

"Hey, I'm sure that stuff worked," the larger boy assured Sam.

"Yeah," the young Winchester agreed, "I'm sure it did."

SPN

Dean found he could actually concentrate on Mr. Powell's lesson now that he knew Sam was safe from the ghost of Billy Jenkins.

Everything was going to be okay now; Dean just knew it. He didn't have to worry about his baby brother getting hurt.

SPN

Sam shut the door to the bathroom stall and proceeded to go about his business. He was alone in the restroom but that didn't concern him, why would it? The blessing Mark's brother had found had worked and he didn't have to be afraid to go to the bathroom anymore.

Once Sam was finished he flushed the toilet and unlocked the stall, going over to one of the sinks to wash his hands.

Fingers dripping water, the eight-year old reached for the paper towel dispenser when the device suddenly spewed out a long rope of brown towels as though it had a mind of its own. Sam gasped and stepped back as the rope of towels darted at him like a snake and wrapped itself around his throat. The boy grunted in surprise and raised his dripping hands to pull the paper towels away but his fingers could not tear them loose.

"Help," Sam squeaked out as the rope of paper towels tightened and he could no longer breathe.

The child staggered backwards, believing he'd hit the door to the stall he'd just exited when a chilly hand gripped the back of his neck and a cold voice whispered in his ear.

"You're dead meat, Clyde."

Sam's eyes, wide from fear and lack of oxygen, popped out of his head and he wheezed a scream of terror.

Staring at his reflection in the mirror across from him, the eight-year old saw Billy Jenkins looming over him, one hand clutching the nape of his neck, the other holding a pair of heavy, metal scissors.

Sam closed his eyes. He felt sick. His legs were trembling, threatening to collapse at any moment; his head was pounding and his heart felt as though it was about to explode in his chest.

"…So ask her out," a voice suddenly broke through the silence in the bathroom as a couple of eighth-grade boys stepped inside.

"Nah, she'll say no," the other voice responded, "You know she wi- Holy shit! Kid, are you okay!"

Strong hands were helping Sam up off the floor and the boy couldn't remember when he'd fallen.

"What happened?" one of the older boys asked, "Are you okay?"

"D'n," Sam whimpered, his throat feeling as though he'd swallowed a mouthful of glass.

"Hold on, I'll get a teacher," one of the eighth-graders said and ran out of the bathroom.

Sam closed his eyes and slipped away from consciousness.

SPN

"What in blazes is going on at that school?" Bobby grumbled to himself as he climbed into his pickup truck and headed towards Sioux Falls Elementary after being called by the receptionist saying that he needed to come and get Sam.

Bobby was only glad that he hadn't been on his way to the airport to drive Karen's mother back to their place when the call had come. It seemed to be pretty serious. From what Edna had told him, Sam had been found on the floor of the boys' bathroom, unconscious or barely conscious, paper towels strewn all over the place. It looked as though the boy had slipped and possibly hit his head on the counter or the floor.

The only strange thing about it, the receptionist had told Bobby, was that there were bruises on the boy's neck.

The mechanic sighed and wiped a hand down his face. He just hoped the boy was all right. The tyke had already been through enough that he didn't need another trip to the hospital.

Maybe Sam should stay home for a while, Bobby thought, at least until they'd figured out what was going on with him.

Pulling into the parking lot of the elementary school, the new father barely took the time to turn off the truck's engine before he was hurrying into the building, straight to the office.

Opening the door, the father was pointed to the nurse's office by the receptionist. Giving the woman a silent nod of thanks, Bobby stepped into the main office and crossed to where the nurse looked after the bumps and bruises the students invariably accumulated while playing outside.

Bobby saw Dean first, sitting on a chair beside the nurse's desk, eyes red-rimmed and his face pale. Bobby saw Sam next, lying on his back with his eyes wide open. The only colour to his skin came from the purple and blue bruises around his throat.

"What in God's name happened?" Bobby asked.

SPN

Sam turned his head to the sound of Bobby's voice but said nothing. The eight-year old's eyes followed the man as he went to the nurse and asked her how he'd been injured.

It was Billy, Sam thought, Billy did it. He's not gone. He's still here and he's really, really angry.

The boy whimpered and suddenly Dean was at his side, holding his hand.

"…appears to be a concussion as well…" Nurse Helen's words seemed to be coming from the far end of a long tunnel.

Sam concentrated on the feeling of his brother's hand holding his own, the pressure of it, the softness of Dean's skin, the sense of comfort it gave.

"I'm taking the boys home," Bobby's voice cut through Sam's numb shell.

Home. He would be safe there. Away from Billy.

The eight-year old squeezed his older brother's hand and Dean returned the gesture.

"C'mon Squirt," the twelve-year old said and helped Sam sit up.

Bobby stepped in close to the boys and reached out, picking Sam up. The younger Winchester made no protest; he simply wrapped his arms around Bobby's neck and laid his head against the man's shoulder.

Sam closed his eyes again as Bobby walked down the hallway towards the front doors to the school.

SPN

Something was seriously wrong with Sam. Even worse than before when Billy had been working his ghost mojo on him.

Sam wouldn't talk, just laid there on the couch with his eyes open but staring at nothing.

Dean had heard what Nurse Helen had said about concussions and head injuries but he didn't think a bump on the head or a shaken up brain was what was wrong with his brother.

It was Billy that was making Sam act so strange.

Even though his brother hadn't spoken to him, hadn't told him what had really happened in that bathroom, Dean knew it had been that ghost again. He knew that Eric's blessing and sage burning hadn't been enough to get rid of Billy Jenkins.

Dean didn't know what he was going to do. Sure, Bobby could keep Sammy out of school for a few days, maybe even a week but eventually his brother would have to go back. And when he did…

The twelve-year old didn't want to think of what might happen to his brother if Sam set foot in Sioux Falls Elementary again.

"Dean! Hey! Dean!"

The older Winchester turned around just before stepping outside- Bobby was already walking with Sam across the sidewalk towards the parking lot- and turned to see Mark.

"Billy attacked Sam again," Dean told his friend tightly, "Hurt him this time."

"He's not gone?" Mark asked and the other boy shook his head, "Eric was wrong."

"There has to be another way," Dean's friend insisted.

Dean shrugged, at a loss for words.

"Bobby's gonna keep Sam home today," he told Mark, "And maybe even Monday too."

"Listen," Mark told Dean, "I'll talk to Eric again, see if there's another way to get rid of ghosts. Okay? We'll do this, Dean. I know we can."

The older Winchester nodded distractedly.

"I'll call you tonight and let you know what Eric says," Mark told him as Dean was turning towards the door.

"Okay," the boy muttered and pushed his way out the door and dashed across the school's parking lot to catch up with Bobby and Sam.

"C'mon son," the mechanic gestured towards the open passenger's side door and Dean slid into the cab beside his brother.

The twelve-year old automatically put an arm around his brother's shoulders and drew Sam close to him.

"It'll be okay, Sammy," he murmured to his brother, quiet so that Bobby wouldn't hear, "I'll make this okay. I won't let Billy hurt you ever again."

Sam didn't respond, he just snuggled closer against Dean.

W

"You sure you boys will be all right while I go to the airport?" Bobby asked for the tenth time and Dean nodded, huddled under a large afghan blanket with his brother on the couch, watching mindless television.

"We'll be fine," the twelve-year old insisted, "Won't we, Sam?"

The eight-year old blinked but didn't answer.

Bobby nodded, his lips pursed, and left, closing the front door behind himself.

Dean sighed and brushed his brother's bangs back from his forehead.

"You're okay, Sammy," he said quietly.

Dean winced at the sight of the bruises marring the skin on Sam's neck and turned his attention to the TV, "Yeah, okay."

SPN

"Dean."

Sam spoke so quietly that his brother didn't hear him right away.

"Dean."

"Sammy? Hey, you okay?"

"Please," the eight-year old whispered, "Please don't make me go back to school."

"Sam-" Dean began but his brother interrupted.

"Please! I can't go back! Please don't make me go back!"

Sam was working himself up, shaking, his voice rasping like sandpaper.

"Hey, Sammy, Sammy, it's okay," Dean murmured and hugged him, "You don't have to go back. Not today. Not Monday either."

"He'll kill me!" Sam exclaimed, his eyes wild, "I know he will!"

"Sam!" Dean reached out and gripped his upper arms, "Nothing is going to happen to you! I won't let it! I promise I won't let anything or anyone hurt you!"

Sam stopped and swallowed back the words that had been bubbling up his throat. Instead, his eyes filled with tears and he leaned his face against Dean's chest, crying.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, sounding as though he was trying to hold back his own tears, "I've always protected you and I'm not going to stop. I don't care who tries to hurt you; I'll kick their ass. Even Billy's."

The eight-year old clung to his brother as though for dear life, wanting to believe Dean's words.

SPN

Eileen Lewis glanced around the Sioux Falls Regional Airport, searching the milling crowd for her son in law. She didn't see him in amongst the harried-looking businessmen and women, families returning or departing for vacation, or pilots and stewards and stewardesses but that meant nothing. Robert was a man of his word and he had told her that he would meet her at the airport. He didn't exactly work on a fixed schedule but she was sure he wouldn't be too much longer.

Since she already had her bags- luggage and gifts for the boys- Eileen sat down to watch other passengers gather their belongings from the carousel.

She had been so happy for Karen when she'd called to tell her she was considering adoption. Eileen knew Karen had wanted a family of her own ever since she'd been a girl herself and had been devastated to find out she couldn't have children.

It was surprising though, for Eileen at least, to hear that her daughter had decided to take in two young boys since she'd always believed Karen wanted a little girl.

Although she had only spoken to one of the boys for a brief moment, the elderly woman knew that they must be very special for her daughter to bring them into her home.

"Eileen!"

The woman raised her head at the sound of her name and saw her son-in-law pushing his way through the crowd towards her. Standing slowly, Eileen shuffled forward, her heavy bags weighing her down.

"Let me get those," Bobby told her as he stepped forward and the elderly woman gratefully released her burden.

Instantly Eileen knew something was bothering her son-in-law; he was frowning and seemed preoccupied as he took her luggage and turned away from her.

"Robert?" She asked as she hurried to match his steps, "Bob? Is everything all right?"

The mechanic looked at her from the corner of his eye.

"It's nothin' you need to worry about, Eileen."

The woman frowned, "How is Karen?"

"Oh Karen's fine. Just fine," Bobby replied.

Eileen bit her lower lip, a habit she'd had from childhood whenever she was anxious, "And the boys? Are they adjusting to family life well?"

"Aye. They're both getting along at home."

Eileen didn't speak again until they had passed through the sliding glass doors that led out of the airport and they were headed to Bobby's pickup truck.

"Then what's wrong?"

Bobby sighed as he loaded his mother-in-law's luggage into his truck, "They seem to be having some trouble at school."

Eileen wasn't surprised.

"The school year just started, yes?"

Her son-in-law nodded.

"Those boys are at a new school, in a new city, in a new state for Pete's sake, Robert! Of course they'd likely to take some time to get used to the change," Eileen told Bobby as though he didn't know this already.

"I am not so sure that's it," Bobby replied.

"Well then, what do you think is going on?" the woman asked and Bobby shrugged in a helpless way, "I'll tell you about it on the way home."

SPN

Sam looked up sharply when he heard Bobby's pickup truck pull into the driveway.

He glanced at Dean. His brother was sleeping beside him on the couch, his head titled back and a string of drool coursing down the side of his mouth.

"Dean," the eight-year old nudged his brother and spoke his name.

"Uh huh," Dean sat up and wiped a hand across his mouth, "What'd I miss?"

"Bobby's home," Sam replied.

"Are you feeling better?" Dean asked and Sam shrugged.

After the embarrassing cry-fest earlier, the eight-year old felt better, more a part of the world and less detached from it.

He still dreaded the idea of going back to Sioux Falls Elementary but now he had time to think over the knowledge that Dean's friend was going to talk to his brother again and hopefully this time find a way to get rid of Billy permanently. Sam knew that Dean at least wouldn't stop until the school was safe for him again and that comforted the eight-year old.

Sam stood up just as the front door to the house was opening. Dean did the same, grabbing the remote to turn off the television as he did so.

"Boys!" Bobby called in his gruff voice, "I'm back."

Sam heard the sound of heavy bags being set down on the hardwood floor before Bobby spoke again.

"Come and say hello to your grandmother."

SPN

Dean raked his fingers through his short-cropped hair to muss it back into place. He glanced over his shoulder at his brother. Sam was staring towards the front door, a nervous expression on his face.

Dean placed a hand on his sibling's shoulder and smiled at him. The eight-year old ducked his head so that his dark bangs flopped down in front of his face, hiding his scars and he attempted to pull the collar of his shirt up high to keep the marks on his neck, courtesy of Billy, from sight as well.

"Boys?" Bobby's voice called from near the front door, "Everything all right?"

"Yeah," Dean replied in a raised voice, "We're coming."

"C'mon Sammy," he murmured to his brother and with one hand still on his sibling's shoulder, Dean led him towards their father and grandmother.

The first person Dean saw was Bobby. The mechanic wore his usual plaid, flannel shirt underneath a brown vest and a grimy baseball cap atop his russet-coloured hair. The man looked visibly relieved at the sight of the brothers.

"This lady is yer grandmother," the mechanic said and Dean's eyes were drawn to the elderly woman standing just behind him.

She looked as though she used to be tall but her back was now bent with age, her shoulders slumped. Her hair was still long but white now with a single streak of silver running down the left side, directly above her temple. She had clear blue eyes, the same shade of blue as Karen's and a kind smile. Eileen was wearing a lavender-colour t-shirt with faux amethysts beaded around the collar, a hand-knitted maroon sweater and beige slacks. On her feet was a pair of white loafers.

"Hello," the woman said and held out her thin arms for a hug.

Dean hesitated for a moment before he approached Eileen and was enfolded in a bony, though strong embrace.

The twelve-year old closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the scent of Yardley soap and some sort of floral perfume and found both comforting.

"You must be Dean," Eileen said and the boy nodded.

Dean disengaged from the hug and stepped back, noticing a half-dozen packages at Eileen's feet that looked suspiciously like gift bags.

The elderly woman lifted her head and looked at Sam, smiling.

"Come here, Darling," she encouraged and the eight-year old stepped forward cautiously.

For an instant Dean saw Eileen frown before her smile returned and she hugged Sam.

"I'll bring your things in, Eileen," Bobby announced and stepped around the boys and their new grandmother.

"You can have our room," the mechanic told his mother-in-law over his shoulder, "Since the boys now have the guest room."

Eileen looked up at Bobby, "I'm only here for the weekend. I can sleep on the couch."

The man shook his head and continued on his way upstairs.

"See an old lady into the den, will you?" Eileen asked the Winchesters, holding out one hand to each boy.

Dean took the woman's right hand while Sam took her left and they walked with her into the living room, sitting down on the couch on either side of her.

The twelve-year old put his hands in his lap, twisting his fingers together, not sure what to say to Eileen. On the new grandmother's other side, Sam was fiddling anxiously with the hem of his shirt.

"Oh come now," Eileen's thin voice made Dean jump in surprise, "Don't be shy."

The elder Winchester looked up at the old woman and grimaced; he didn't know what to say.

He stared at Eileen's face, his eyes tracing her paper-thin skin, the blue veins beneath her wizened cheeks.

"Do you… Do you make cookies?"

Sam asked the question out of the blue and Dean peered at his brother.

"It's just… in all the stories I've read about grandmothers, they make cookies and cakes and pies and things and I was wondering if you did that too."

Eileen chuckled and wrapped one thin arm around Sam's small shoulders, "Of course I do!"

Dean looked up when Bobby came into the den.

"What would y'all like to do? Karen's at work until three or so."

Eileen smiled at her son-in-law, "I think I'd like to do some baking, Bob, if you don't mind."

"Really?" the mechanic asked; Dean could see the confusion on his face, "But you only just got in. Don't you need to relax a bit?"

Eileen stood up from the couch, shaking her head, "I find baking relaxing."

"Who's up for some baking? Boys?" the elderly woman asked and Dean glanced at his brother.

He knew he could use some distraction while he waited for Mark to call and he was certain it would help Sam as well.

Dean nodded and smiled, "Yeah!"

"That's settled then," Eileen announced and the Winchesters followed her into the kitchen.

SPN

Karen sighed as she slipped through the backdoor of the diner, tugging her hair out of its tight bun as she did so to let the blonde strands trail freely across her shoulders.

Some days she loved her job and other days, such as today; Karen wished she did something else for a living.

Climbing into her car, Karen heaved a sigh, glad to be finished her shift, and turned on the radio to hear Katrina and the Waves singing about walking on sunshine. Smiling, Karen turned up the volume and began to sing along as she pulled out of the parking lot.

W

By the time Karen pulled into the gravel driveway of Singer Salvage, she had forgotten all about her less-than-pleasant day at work, looking forward to seeing Sam and Dean and her mother, of course.

Parking the car, Karen climbed from the vehicle, pausing to smooth the front of her uniform dress before continuing up the porch step and pushing open the front door.

"Bobby? I'm home!" she called, "Mama? Mom? Are you here?"

Karen smiled when she heard the sound of a little boy's giggling coming from the direction of the kitchen, along with the sweet scent of baking.

"Karen!"

Sam hurried out of the kitchen and ran towards her, a grin plastered on his face, his green eyes bright with excitement.

"How come you're home so early?" Karen asked as she leaned down to give the eight-year old a hug, "Is your leg hurting again?"

As she reached out for the child, and Sam lifted his head, Karen saw strange marks on his throat, thin bruises and reddish skin that looked as though it had been rubbed raw by something.

"Sam?" Karen asked and lifted the boy's chin with one hand to get a better look at the marks.

"What happened?" She asked.

If Karen hadn't known any better, she'd think that the child had somehow had a rope or string of some sort wrapped around his neck.

Sam lowered his gaze and took a step back.

"I… uh… fell… I fell in the school bathroom," he muttered without looking at her.

Karen looked up sharply when Bobby came to stand in the kitchen doorway.

"Bobby? What happened to Sam's neck?"

She could see her mother and Dean standing just behind Bobby. Eileen looked curious and anxious while the twelve-year old looked a little scared.

"The nurse said he'd fallen in the bathroom," her husband told her, "But he hasn't said anything about it."

"Some older boys found him lying on the floor."

Karen frowned and peered at the eight-year old again.

"Sam," she knelt down so she was more or less eye-to-eye with the child, "Did someone hurt you?"

Still refusing to look at her, Sam shook his head.

"No'm," he muttered.

"Sam," Karen put a hand on his shoulder, "If someone hurt you, you can tell me and I'll call the Principal myself. People can't hurt you like that and get away with it."

The little boy looked up at her, his green eyes dry.

"I fell in the bathroom," he repeated, "That's it."

Karen wanted to press the boy, not certain that he was telling the truth but was afraid of pushing him away. Instead she nodded and stood.

"What were you three making in the kitchen?"

As she followed Sam into the kitchen she glanced at Bobby from the corner of her eye.

I still want to talk to you, her expression said.

Bobby looked unhappy that he was still on the hook.

SPN

Sam couldn't help but feel Karen watching him for the rest of the evening. He had told Karen exactly what Nurse Helen believed, what Bobby had been told- that he'd slipped in the boys' restroom and hit his head- but she didn't believe him. He didn't like lying to Karen- or to Bobby for that matter- but he could not tell them what really happened. He was terrified that if they found out Billy Jenkins had attacked him, they wouldn't believe him, or worse, they would think he was crazy or something and send him and Dean back to the orphanage.

Sam couldn't help but pick at his dinner, his appetite nonexistent.

Dean, sitting beside him, didn't eat much more than he, clearly anxious for Mark to call.

"Do you want some of the strawberry pie we made?" Grandma Eileen asked as both he and Dean shoved away their plates.

Sam shook his head and Dean politely refused.

The eight-year old noticed Karen glance at Bobby in a way that told him she was clearly angry.

"I know what," Eileen announced, "Why don't you all open the gifts I brought?"

Sam looked up. He'd completely forgotten that he'd seen the brightly wrapped packages among his grandmother's luggage.

Now though, the prospect of gifts didn't get him excited. He really just wanted to go to bed.

"I'll go get them, Eileen," Bobby offered and left the kitchen before anyone could protest.

"Mom," Karen began, "You didn't have to-"

"Nonsense," Eileen waved her hand at her daughter, "A grandmother's meant to spoil her grandchildren."

Karen said no more and smiled at the Winchesters.

Heavy footsteps announced Bobby's return and he entered the kitchen, carrying six bags of colourful paper.

"Here," Eileen said and reached out for a blue sparkly bag with red tissue paper stuffed inside, "This one's for Sam."

The eight-year old reached out and took the gift; Karen stood and took the boys' plates off the table to make room, and waited.

"And this one is Dean's," Eileen handed the older brother a green bag with black tissue paper.

Sam hesitated, feeling the adults' eyes on him, waiting for him to do something.

"Go on," Eileen encouraged, "It doesn't bite. Open it."

Sam glanced at Dean from the corner of his eye and waited until he saw his brother grab a handful of the tissue paper in his own bag and pull it out before starting in on his own.

"Thanks Grandma!" Dean announced happily as he pulled out a white and red remote-control helicopter from his bag, "This is so cool!"

Sam tore the tissue paper out of his bag and pulled out a Superman action figure and three comic books.

"Karen told me he's your favourite," Eileen leaned in as she spoke to Sam.

The eight-year old nodded, "Thanks."

"There's more!" the elderly woman announced and motioned to Bobby to hand out the rest of the gifts.

W

Sam couldn't help but feel just a little embarrassed about all the presents he had been given by Karen's mother. It had even been difficult to go out to the store with Karen herself just days earlier and let her buy Sam and his brother more toys than they had ever had in their lives.

The eight-year old's thoughts were interrupted by the sudden jangle of the telephone as it rang. Sam looked up as Dean stood as though his chair was electrified and he hurried into the living room where Bobby's desk was and grabbed the phone.

"Mark?"

SPN

"Hey, Dean," Mark replied, sounding breathless with excitement, "Just talked to Eric and he found a guarantee way to get rid of Billy."

"How?" Dean asked, gripping the phone tightly and speaking in a low voice.

"Eric found this website that says you have to dig up the body of the dead person, pour salt over the corpse, then burn it."

Dean frowned, "And that'll work? Really?"

"Yeah," Mark answered confidently, "Eric read some comments from people who were on the site before and they say it does work."

Dean nodded, his heart starting to beat faster.

"And Billy's buried at the school, right? Under the baseball diamond?"

"That's what everyone says," Mark confirmed, "So I think that's the first place we should look for him. Eric said he'd help us. He can drive us out there and get the gasoline to burn Billy's body."

"When can we do this," Dean asked, "I don't want Sammy going to school if that ghost's still there."

"Tomorrow would be a good time," Mark told him, "No one will be at the school on a Saturday night. Just say you're coming to my house for a sleepover. My Mom and Dad are going away for a couple of days so it's just me and Eric."

"Do I need to bring anything?" Dean asked.

"Salt," Mark said, "If you can get it."

The twelve-year old started to smile, glad in the knowledge that tomorrow Billy Jenkins would be gone one and for all and Sam would be safe.

"Dean? Who're you talking to?"

The older Winchester looked up to see Bobby standing in the living room. How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard?

"Mark," Dean answered quickly, "He…uh, wants to know if I can come over for a sleepover tomorrow. Can I, Bobby? Please?"

The mechanic opened his mouth to answer when Sam appeared from behind him, holding his new Superman action figure.

Dean smiled at his brother. Sam's mouth was a thin, grim line but he nodded almost imperceptibly- unnoticed by Bobby- and left the living room to return to the kitchen with Karen and Eileen.

"So, Bobby? Can I go over to Mark's house?" Dean repeated once his brother had gone.

"Well," the mechanic said, "I was hoping you'd spend some time with Eileen…"

"Please," Dean pressed, "Just for the night. I'll get to spend all Saturday with you."

"Well, all right," Bobby relented, "Just one night."

The twelve-year old grinned, "Thanks, Bobby!"

SPN

As Dean snored lightly in the bunk above his, Sam laid wide-awake.

He could hear Karen and Bobby arguing just down the hallway.

What made things worse- what made Sam's stomach twist into painful knots- was that they were arguing about him.

"…understand why you thought it was okay to leave me in the dark, Bobby," Karen's hissed voice carried down the hallway, "Sam was hurt, didn't you think I should know about it?"

"Karen," Bobby replied, his gruff voice a little louder than his wife's, "I didn't want to worry you unnecessarily. I would have called you if he'd had to go to the hospital."

"I don't care!" Karen snapped, "It looks as though that boy was strangled by someone-"

"He fell in the boys' restroom," Bobby interrupted.

"You don't get injuries like that from falling in a bathroom! Damn it, Bobby!" Karen snapped, her voice growing louder and louder with her anger.

"He's all right, Karen, there's nothing to worry about. I'm keep him home from school on Monday-" Bobby tried again.

"What if someone from the orphanage came to check to see how the boys were doing? What if they saw Sam's neck and thought we'd done something?"

"Karen, now yer just overreacting-" Bobby tried to calm down his wife but it was no use, she interrupted him.

"Don't tell me I'm overacting!"

Sam quickly stopped listening to the argument. He pulled his blanket over his head and pressed his two stuffed toys to either side of his head to try and block out the noise.

W

Sam tried to ignore the tenseness between the Singers the next morning over breakfast. Clearly the late-night fight was still weighing heavy on their minds.

Dean apparently noticed it too and kept glancing up from his food to look between Karen and Bobby.

Eileen either didn't notice or care. She simply hummed to herself as she buttered a piece of toast.

Sam pushed his scrambled eggs around his plate for a moment, biting his lip.

"Can we go to the park today?"

Dean looked up at him, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Both Karen and Bobby turned to the eight-year old.

"Sure," the mechanic said, "If that's what you want to do."

Sam nodded and glanced at Dean from the corner of his eye. Although the idea of going out in public and being stared at like some circus sideshow always made the boy anxious, he didn't think he could stay in the house much longer if Bobby and Karen were going to be looking daggers at each other constantly.

"Why don't we make a day of it?" Karen suggested, "We can pack a picnic lunch; it'll be fun!"

"Sure," Bobby agreed, "I've got no plans."

"Sounds lovely, dear," Eileen told her daughter.

Sam smiled and scooped up a mouthful of scrambled eggs with his fork and munched on them happily.

SPN

"Can I help make the sandwiches?" Dean asked Karen as the woman stacked the breakfast dishes in the sink to be washed later.

Karen turned to Dean and smiled, "Sure, do you want to get out some bread?"

The twelve-year old nodded. He didn't mind helping the woman, but he had a different reason for wanted to make sandwiches with her than to just spend quality time together; he needed to get some salt for tonight.

Whenever he thought about what he and his friends were going to do, Dean felt his heart give a nervous twitch inside his chest. He didn't doubt his friend Mark truly wanted to help him and Sam, he just wasn't sure his brother knew as much as he believed he did.

But the suggestion about digging up the ghost's earthly remains and burning them seemed like a reasonable way to get rid of an evil spirit, well, as reasonable as the idea of evil spirits went anyhow.

"How's egg salad sound to you?" Karen asked as she opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs.

Dean wrinkled his nose but then smiled and shrugged.

"Sam likes that," he told the woman.

"Good," Karen replied, "I'll also make some tuna salad too, okay?"

Dean nodded his approval. He watched as she filled a pot with water and set it on the stove to boil, carefully dropping all twelve eggs into it.

Next, Karen grabbed a couple of cans of tuna from the cupboard and moved to the can-opener.

"Can you hand me the salt, Dean?" Karen asked and the twelve-year old jumped at the chance to get his hands on the coveted seasoning.

He handed the saltshaker to Karen and watched as she sat it on the counter while she opened the tuna cans.

SPN

Sam immediately regretted his suggestion of going to the park when Bobby pulled into the parking lot and the eight-year old saw how many kids were there.

"You okay, Squirt?" Dean asked from the seat beside him and Sam nodded, forcing a smile.

"Yeah," he muttered and made a show of unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car.

The eight-year old took a couple of deep breaths and told himself that Dean, Karen and Bobby wouldn't let anything happen to him or anyone be mean to him.

"This is nice," Eileen said as she climbed from the car and looked around.

Karen nodded, "We drive past this park all the time but never went in. We just never had a reason to."

"Well," her mother said, "Now you do."

"C'mon boys," Bobby encouraged and Sam and Dean followed him onto the grass of the park.

The area was quite large, with tall, mature trees towering over the playground equipment. There were paved paths winding through the park with well-kept benches along its sides at odd intervals. There were large square sandboxes filled with wood chips- one that had a swing set inside, one with a jungle gym and the last had a merry-go round- were children of differing ages were playing. Beyond the playgrounds were a public tennis court and a food stand that sold hot dogs, French fries and Snow Cones; picnic tables were scattered throughout the grass so people could enjoy their food in comfort.

"C'mon Sammy, what do you want to do first?" Dean asked.

The younger Winchester looked around and saw that the swings were deserted. He started to make a beeline towards them.

"We'll just be over here boys!" Karen called as she, Bobby and her mother made their way over towards one of the picnic tables.

Dean waved at Karen and followed Sam to the swings.

Sam sat down on one, grabbing the chains holding the flexible rubber seat and swung lightly, dragging the toes of his sneakers in the wood chips.

Before going to sleep the night before, Dean had told Sam what he had been told by Mark, how they were going to dig up his bones and burn them.

"Do you really think you'll be able to get rid of Billy tonight?" He asked quietly.

"I don't think so," Dean told him, causing Sam to look up sharply, his green eyes suddenly wet, "I know so."

"Even if this doesn't work," the twelve-year old said, "I'll make sure Billy won't hurt you or any other kid again."

Sam bit his lip and nodded.

"Hey," Dean said and smiled, "Wanna see how high you can swing?"

The eight-year old grinned and began pumping his legs to help push the swing higher.

SPN

"I'll be back tomorrow morning at eight to pick you up," Bobby told Dean as he pulled up to the boulevard in front of Mark's house.

"'Kay," Dean muttered distractedly, already unbuckling his seatbelt and hooking one hand around the strap of his backpack.

"Eight AM sharp," Bobby repeated as the twelve-year old pushed open the door to the pickup truck and hurried down the driveway towards the house.

Dean stepped up the cement porch steps and pounded on the door, worried that Bobby was going to change his mind and say he couldn't stay over.

Mark opened the door however and ushered him inside. Dean dropped his backpack and followed his friend into a small den that had a dark brown leather couch, chocolate-coloured wood coffee table, wall-to-wall bookshelves and a television crammed into it. Jerome, Aiden, Glenn, Corey and an older boy who looked like an older version of Mark were sitting side-by-side on the couch.

"This is Eric," Mark introduced his brother and Dean nodded.

"Hey," the tenth-grader greeted the elder Winchester.

Mark flopped down on the carpet and sighed, "We have to wait until it gets dark before we can go to the school."

Dean nodded, then turned his attention to Eric.

"Mark said you were pretty sure this would work."

The older boy nodded, "The guy who wrote for the website seemed legit and the comments did too."

Dean bit his lip, "Is it dangerous?"

Eric shrugged, "Some people said it was… some didn't. I don't know. I guess it depends on the ghost or whatever."

"Oh," the twelve-year old muttered.

"So your little bro actually got attacked by Billy Jenkin's ghost?" Eric asked and Dean nodded, "Yeah, he did."

The older boy whistled.

"I saw him once, you know," Eric said and Dean looked up surprised, the others boys looked just as shocked.

"I didn't think he'd attacked anyone else-" the twelve-year old began but Eric interrupted, "I never got attacked. I just saw him."

"You never told me that," Mark said and crossed his arms, pouting a little.

"No way I was gonna tell you I'd been scared like that," Eric replied with a wry smile, "I'd never live it down."

"What happened?" Corey asked, leaning forward.

"It was Halloween a couple of years ago," Eric told them, "I was in grade eight or nine and my friends thought it'd be funny if we went into the woods at the edge of the school, just to scare ourselves, you know?"

"Anyway, there we are, hanging out in the trees, eating our candy and joking around," Eric continued, "After a while it starts to get cold and we haven't seen anything so we're just about ready to go home."

"Suddenly I hear something over my head," Eric told them, "It wasn't a branch rattling or anything like that, it was a laugh, a chuckle- I still get chills thinking about it- and I look up, thinking one of my friends is messing with me or something and I see this face, hanging inches above mine. I just about shi- uh, crapped- myself and jumped away. My friends laughed, thought I was trying to scare them but I wasn't going to stop to explain to them what I saw, I ran out of those trees so fast and haven't gone inside since."

"Wow," Mark breathed, looking impressed.

Eric glanced out the window at the darkness now shrouding the glass.

"We can go now," he told the boys, "You got the salt?"

Dean nodded, reaching into his jacket pocket to touch the shaker he'd taken from the Singers' kitchen.

"Let's roll," Eric said and led the seventh-graders out of the den and headed towards the front door.

SPN

Sam tried to concentrate on the movie he was watching but all he could think about was Dean.

It was dark out now.

Was Dean on his way to the school? Was he there now? Was he digging up Billy's bones? Would Eric's idea really work?

Sam hoped his brother was all right. He didn't know if Billy would attack Dean but if he did, Sam prayed that his brother would be okay.

He'll be fine, Sam told himself, he always is.

Still, though, he had a difficult time trying to pay attention to the sounds and rapidly moving pictures flashing across the television screen.

SPN

The school was indeed deserted when they arrived. No lights illuminated the windows and the parking lot was empty. The boys moved low and quick across the schoolyard, burdened down with the tools they would need.

As they approached the baseball diamond in the back corner of the yard, Dean couldn't help but peer over his shoulder at the dark line of trees and shivering.

"The best thing we can do is to spread out and start digging," Eric told them in a whisper, "Let the rest of us know if you find anything."

Dean nodded and dug his shovel into the gravel-coated ground that made up the diamond, pressing his foot down on the top of the shovel to try and break through the hard-packed earth.

W

Dean raised his arm and wiped at the sweat on his forehead. He glanced at the numerous holes dotted throughout the diamond and sighed.

Maybe Billy had never been buried here and it was just some legend.

"Hey!" Corey cried, "I… I think I found something!"

Dean hurried to his friend and crouched down. Eric moved forward and took out a flashlight and shone it into the bottom of the hole.

"Looks like wood," he muttered, "Could be a coffin."

"Okay," Eric said, "Keep digging here."

Dean, tired but now feeling as though they were getting somewhere, was the first to start digging.

W

"Holy shit," Mark swore as the old, rotted coffin was revealed.

Dean nodded. He couldn't believe that there was actually a coffin with a dead body beneath the baseball diamond of an elementary school.

"Let's finish this," Eric said and raised his shovel, slamming the blade down into the soft wood.

"C'mon, we gotta get this open!" the tenth-grader said through gritted teeth and the others boys all began to use their shovels to crack the wooden coffin lid.

"Hold on!" Eric announced and waved a hand at the boys, reaching down with the other and wrenching the lid open.

"Aw gross!" Jerome exclaimed and took a few steps back as a stained, flaking skeleton was revealed, the clothes it had been buried in no more than clinging tatters.

The other boys made equally disgusted sounds and backed away but Dean, Eric and Mark remained close to the gravesite.

"We don't have much time," the tenth-grader reminded them, "Get out the salt."

Dean grabbed the shaker from his pocket and began to shake it furiously up and down. He saw Mark had his own shaker while Eric upended an entire box of salt over the skeleton.

It's going to work, Dean thought, it's really going to work!

"Dean!"

Corey's warning came just a second too late as the twelve-year old turned around and came face-to-face with Billy. The ghost's pale features were twisted into an angry snarl and Dean had no time to defend himself before he was sent flying backwards and into the tall chain-link fence that curved around the narrow side of the diamond.

"Dean! Are you okay?" he heard his friends cry out as he slumped to the ground, dazed.

"Keep going!" Eric's voice ordered, "We can't stop!"

The older Winchester picked himself up and stood, making his way back towards the open grave in a stupor.

He caught sight of a red shape bobbing up and down in Eric's hands and the sound of gurgling accompanying it.

Suddenly the tenth-grader was bowled backwards into the younger boys, stopping in a mass of tangled limbs.

Billy was standing in front of the group of boys, facing away from Dean.

The twelve-year old had to finish this, had to protect his friends and his brother. Lowering his gaze, Dean saw a lighter nestled in the gravel beside the hole- it must have fallen out of Eric's pocket when he'd been thrown- and bent down to pick it up.

He thumbed the wheel and a spark blossomed.

"Hey Billy," Dean annunciated as well as he could.

The ghost turned around to glare at Dean and his eyes widened in horror at what he saw.

"Don't fuck with the Winchesters."

Dean dropped the lighter into the grave and watched as flames sprouted up the ghost boy's legs, eating the limbs away and climbing hungrily as he screamed. Within seconds he was gone and the crackle of flames was the only sound in the schoolyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from an Evanescence song of the same name.   
> If any of you were wondering, the idea for Billy the ghost didn't just come out of nowhere. When I was young, I went to an elementary school that had a small wood along one side of the yard that we students weren't allowed to go into. We did go into them when we could though and although most of it was just kind of peaceful, there was a part that was really creepy. One of the trees had large nails or railroad spikes and bits of wooden boards sticking out of its trunk about six feet above the ground. We could tell that they had been attached to the tree for a long time because the nails were rusted. To scare each other we had this story that some kids had been trying to build a tree house when one of them- a boy- fell out of the tree and died. Another tree in this small forest, not far from the tree with nails in it, had what was clearly red paint on its trunk; but to make it more exciting we told each other that it was blood of some kid who'd been murdered- I don't remember what the supposed circumstances of the murder was though. These stories creeped me out so much as a kid and have stuck with me and were an influence on the creation of Billy.  
> Please feel free to leave a comment if you liked this chapter.


	14. A Family Is A Family

Dean was ready to leave Mark's house when Bobby pulled up the driveway in his pickup truck at five minutes to eight the next morning.

Once Billy's remains were nothing but blackened bones and ashes, the boys had quickly and quietly filled the grave back in with dirt and gravel before returning to Mark and Eric's house, exhausted, bruised but relieved and proud of themselves.

Before Dean fell asleep on the living room floor, surrounded by his friends who likewise had just dropped where they stood once they were inside, he spoke to Mark.

"We did it," he whispered, his eyes feeling as though they were weighted down with lead, "We really did it. Sammy's safe."

"Did you have a good time?" Bobby asked as the twelve-year old clambered into the passenger's side of the cab.

"Great time!" Dean exclaimed happily, excited to tell his brother the good news, that Billy Jenkins was gone, once and for all.

The mechanic smiled, "I'm glad you had fun, son."

The boy gave a lopsided grin.

SPN

"Are you feeling all right, baby?" Karen asked Sam, placing the palm of her hand against the eight-year old's forehead as he sat at the breakfast table, pushing his scrambled eggs around on his plate without eating them.

"Yeah," the boy replied, looking up and smiling at Karen and her mother who was sitting across from him, stirring sugar into a cup of tea.

The eight-year old hadn't had much sleep the night before; he had been much too worried about his big brother to release himself into the blissful void of unconsciousness.

Sam had wanted to go with Bobby to pick Dean up from his friend's house but Karen had insisted he stay and eat, since he looked peaky.

"When's Dean and Bobby coming back?" Sam asked and stabbed an egg with his fork.

"Soon," Karen replied, "Why don't you eat something?"

Instead of eating, the boy put his utensil down and pushed his chair back, "May I be excused?"

Karen opened her mouth to answer but before she could speak the front door opened and Sam was up and out of his seat in a flash, shouting his brother's name.

"Dean! Dean! Dean!"

The eight-year old flung his arms around his older brother and squeezed as though they had been separated for many nights instead of just one.

"Hey!" The twelve-year old exclaimed, "I'm glad to see you too."

"Did you do it?" Sam muttered, his face pressed against Dean's chest so that he couldn't see Bobby's wry smile or his brother's eye roll- though he didn't really mean it, he loved Sammy- because he was just so happy that his sibling was safe.

"Is he gone? Did you do it?" Sam repeated, his words muffled as his face pressed into Dean's chest, and he smiled when he felt the vibrations in his brother's torso as he laughed.

They had done it. Billy was gone. Dead. Double dead. He was gone and never coming back.

Sam squeezed his brother even tighter and felt his eyes prickle with tears.

"Hey Squirt, you're not getting all mushy on me, are you?"

The boy shook his head, wiping his face against Dean's t-shirt before looking up at him.

"Nah, I'm good," Sam assured him, feeling his face heating up with embarrassment.

"Did you have breakfast at your friend's?" Karen's voice asked from behind the brothers and Dean told her that he hadn't.

"I'll make you some scrambled eggs," the woman told him before turning her attention to the younger Winchester.

"Come and finish your breakfast, Sam, before it gets cold."

Now that the eight-year old knew that the danger was passed and that his brother had returned to him in one piece, Sam returned to his place at the table and ate his lukewarm eggs with gusto.

SPN

Karen felt her heart swell at the sight of the people sitting around her kitchen table, enjoying their breakfast: her husband, her mother and her two sons, and felt for the first time that her life was complete.

She smiled as she leaned against the counter, just savouring the feeling while her family members were preoccupied.

Although Bobby had been skeptical at first about adoption, and then skeptical about adopting the Winchester brothers, Karen knew that taking those boys in had been the best decision of her life, other than marrying her husband.

Karen's smile faded slightly. As a little girl her mother had taught her that arrogance was wrong, that pride oftentimes came before the fall, and Karen still believed Eileen's words. She was just so happy to have her family complete, after so long feeling as though something vital was missing in her life. In her life, Karen had little to be proud of and she decided that a small amount of hubris couldn't hurt.

SPN

"Breakfast was delicious, as always," Bobby complimented his wife as he stood, taking his breakfast dishes to the sink.

"It's just eggs," Karen replied, demure.

"What do you boys want to do today?" Eileen asked, sipping at another cup of tea with sugar.

"I haven't been to the movies in a while," Karen mused, "Would you two like to go see one?"

Bobby saw both Sam and Dean's eyes widen in delight.

"Yeah!" the eight-year old exclaimed happily, "Can we?"

Dean nodded, "You'd really take us to see a movie?"

Karen smiled, "Of course. Mom, would that be all right with you?"

Bobby's mother-in-law nodded in agreement, "That sounds like a great idea, Dear. The only TV I watch nowadays is Murder, She Wrote with the ladies from the bridge club."

"There are a few playing at the theatre," Karen continued, her cheeks noticeably rosy, from excitement Bobby guessed, "For children. There's Hook, or The Addams Family, or that turtle movie, um…"

"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?" Dean offered and Bobby smiled because he was sure the boy knew exactly what 'that turtle movie' meant.

"Yes! That was it!" Karen exclaimed.

"Can we see that one?" Dean asked, "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?"

"Sure," she said, "Why don't we go after lunch and make an afternoon of it?"

"Sounds good," Bobby agreed, smiling at the boys.

"Can we go play?" Sam asked, looking to him for permission.

The mechanic nodded, "Have fun."

Both brothers shot off their chairs and ran upstairs, laughing and shoving at each other playfully.

Karen smiled as she watched the boys leave the kitchen before she turned around to do the dishes.

"Hon?" Bobby called to his wife from where he sat at the table.

"Yes?" Karen asked without looking at him.

"I think adopting those two boys was the best thing we ever did," Bobby told her, meaning every word.

"Besides marrying each other, of course," Eileen added, causing her daughter and son-in-law to chuckle.

SPN

Sam huddled on his bed, gripping his stuffed animals in his arms tightly.

"Tell me about it, Dean, please," he begged of his brother as soon as they entered the bedroom and were out of hearing of the adults.

The twelve-year old shrugged, "Nothing really exciting happened, Sammy."

"I don't care," the younger sibling argued, "Tell me anyway."

Dean sighed but still looked reluctant.

"Were you scared?" The eight-year old asked.

"Hell yeah I was scared!" Dean told him, "I thought we were going to be caught by someone or Billy would show up and attack us."

Sam gulped and nodded, "Did you see him?"

"I did," Dean confirmed, "And he looked just like the kind of jerk you'd expect to pick on little kids."

Sam, his green eyes wide, nodded.

Now that he'd already began, Dean continued to tell his brother the story about how he and his friends had gone to the school in Eric's car to dig up and burn Billy Jenkins' remains.

His eight-year old brother hung on every word, gasping when Dean told of how the ghost had appeared and thrown him into the chain-link fence at the corner of the baseball diamond, he smiled grimly when Dean described how Billy's spirit burnt up as his earthly remains caught fire.

"Monday morning," Dean said, "No one will ever know what happened."

"Except us," Sam replied.

The twelve-year old sat down beside his sibling and put an arm around his shoulders, "Yeah, except us."

Sam fell silent for a long moment, leaning against his big brother as he squeezed his stuffed toys tightly.

"Dean," he muttered.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Do you think there's other ghosts?"

"At the school? Nah," the older brother replied confidently.

"No, I mean… out there," Sam corrected, pointing out the bedroom window, "In other places."

Dean glanced down at his brother's face, trying to gauge his mood.

"I don't know," he answered truthfully, "Maybe… probably not."

Sam's brow furrowed, "But if Billy Jenkins could came back as a ghost, couldn't other people?"

The twelve-year old frowned. He couldn't argue with that logic.

"I guess," Dean said slowly, "But don't worry Squirt, they won't get you. I won't let them."

Sam scowled at his brother.

"I'm not worried about that," he insisted, his eyes narrowing before he glanced out the window again, his expression smoothing.

"But… maybe… if ghosts are real," he began, quietly, almost as though he were talking to himself, "Couldn't other monsters be real too?"

Dean drew his little brother closer to him, "I don't think so, Sam. I've never seen any monsters. Only the ones pretending to be nice people."

The eight-year old looked up at his sibling, wide-eyed, knowing exactly what he was talking about.

Both brothers lapsed into silence for a long moment, each immersed in his own thoughts, before Dean spoke up again.

"Wanna build with some LEGO?"

Sam nodded, left his stuffed animals on the bed and slid to the floor. Dean stood and grabbed one of the LEGO kits and opened it, dumping the multi-coloured bricks and bits onto the area rug.

Soon all thoughts of monsters and ghosts were forgotten as the brothers as the brothers worked together to build the LEGO police station, featuring both Batman and Superman action figures as the cop-shop denizens, capturing imaginary villains and rescuing the dames- the stuffed rabbit and teddy bear from Sam's bed- that they didn't even notice when Karen opened the door partway and told them that lunch was ready.

Both boys stood up eagerly- they had been so focused on their make-believe adventures that they hadn't noticed how hungry they were- and followed Karen downstairs.

"I hope tomato and rice soup is okay," the told them, "I thought you'd like to get popcorn and soda when we go to the movies."

"We like soup," Dean assured Karen and Sam nodded in agreement even though the woman had her back to them and couldn't see.

The brothers followed the woman into the kitchen and sat down at the kitchen table with Bobby and Eileen.

As Karen ladled out tomato soup and handed a bowl to Sam, the boy recalled his manners and thanked her.

Picking up his spoon, the eight-year old slurped the steamy soup once everyone had been served.

Sam was lifting his second spoonful of soup to his mouth when the chiming of the doorbell startled him, causing the hot liquid to slide off the utensil and splash back into the bowl.

"Now who could that be?" Karen wondered out loud as she set her spoon on the table and stood to answer the door.

Sam's gaze slid to his brother's.

Maybe someone saw Dean and his friends at the school last night and he was going to get into trouble for vandalism or something.

The eight-year old strained his ears to hear what was being said at the front door but he was too far away. Footsteps on the hardwood floor announced Karen's return, with the person who had rung the doorbell following.

"Sam," Karen said, introducing the man, "Dean, this is Mr. Kinley. He's from Child Protective Services. He works with Ms. Norris at the orphanage to make sure you're enjoying your time here."

Sam ducked his head, his hair hanging in front of his face to shield his scars from the prying eyes of the stranger.

He knew about the people from CPS and knew they were supposed to help kids but they always made Sam nervous. Maybe it was how serious they always were. No person from CPS Sam had ever met smiled. Sam guessed that they didn't really have much to smile about.

"This shouldn't take long," Mr. Kinley told them, "If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to you and your husband first."

Bobby slid his chair away from the table with a grunt and followed Karen and Mr. Kinley out to the living room.

"Go on boys," Eileen said, "Eat your soup before it gets cold."

Sam picked up his spoon but he no longer had an appetite.

What if Mr. Kinley decided he and Dean shouldn't stay with the Singers? Sam didn't want to have to go back to the Brighter Days House; he just couldn't.

Dean seemed to be thinking the exact same thing; he was stirring his soup around without taking a bit, chewing on his bottom lip.

The eight-year old looked up when Karen and Bobby returned to the kitchen and sat down.

"Mr. Kinley would like to speak with the two of you," Karen told the brothers.

Sam looked at Dean.

"Go on," Karen spoke up again, "He's waiting."

Sam felt his mouth go dry and the soup in his stomach curdle with nerves but Karen was smiling so everything was probably okay.

"C'mon Squirt," Dean muttered and the eight-year old followed his brother into the living room.

The boys had been through this sort of thing before, when they'd been living in various foster homes… just not usually this early on.

The eight-year old sat down on the couch beside his brother, close enough so his side pressed tightly against Dean's.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions about living here with Mr. and Mrs. Singer," Mr. Kinley told the boys.

Dean nodded, "We've done this before."

The man pursed his lips and looked down at the open notebook in his lap.

"Do you feel safe here? Are you ever frightened of Mr. or Mrs. Singer or the house or yard?"

Sam, his bangs hiding his face, sucked in a sharp breath but Dean answered quickly.

"No, Bobby and Karen have been very nice."

"We're not scared of them," Sam muttered, feeling as though he should say something.

Mr. Kinley nodded and wrote something down in his notebook.

"Do Mr. and Mrs. Singer argue? Do they ever argue in front of you?"

Both Dean and Sam shook their heads. Even though they both knew Bobby and Karen fought- and they had heard them- they waited until later at night when the brothers should have been asleep.

"You boys are sharing a bedroom, yes?" Mr. Kinley said in a way that made it obvious he knew the answer to his own question.

"Yes," Dean replied, "We have bunk beds."

The CPS agent nodded, "Would you mind taking me to see your room?"

Sam looked at Dean but the twelve-year old shrugged, "Sure."

"You stay here, Sammy," Dean told the eight-year old and Sam reluctantly remained in place. He knew they both didn't need to show Mr. Kinley their room.

As his brother and the agent made their way upstairs, Sam wondered why the man hadn't just asked Bobby and Karen to show him the bedroom. Maybe to make sure they weren't just showing him a decoy in case they actually made the boys sleep in a closet or something. Sam shuddered at the thought.

After a few minutes, Dean and Mr. Kinley were making their way back downstairs, the older Winchester talking animatedly about Sioux Falls Elementary and all the friends he was making there.

"And you? Are you enjoying your new school?"

Sam looked up, surprised that the man had turned his attention to him.

"Yes," the eight-year old replied at once, "I like school."

Dean smirked but Mr. Kinley nodded, "I think that's all I need to know right now."

Standing up, the man made his way to the kitchen doorway and told the Singers that everything looked to be in order and that they should expect him to come for another visit in a few weeks. The adults bade goodbye to the agent and the man saw himself out.

Sam slumped against the couch cushions.

"Phew," Dean voiced dramatically, "Am I glad that's over."

The twelve-year old stood and began to head towards the kitchen.

"Hey, c'mon Shrimp," Dean peered over his shoulder at his brother who hadn't moved.

"What's wrong now?"

"What if he doesn't think Bobby and Karen are good parents?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean sighed and went back to his brother, sitting down on the edge of the couch.

"Of course Mr. Kinley thinks their good," he insisted, "They're better than some of the other 'good' ones we've had."

The eight-year old peeked up at his brother through his hair.

"Oh c'mon Sam-" Dean began but was interrupted by Karen calling from the kitchen.

"Is everything all right, boys?"

The Winchesters were silent for a moment before both spoke in unison, "Yes!"

SPN

Karen couldn't help but smile as the Winchesters' eyes lit up when they entered the movie theatre. Sam was holding onto Dean's arm and shaking the appendage vigorously as he stared around the loud, bright entranceway of the cinema.

The floor was covered in dark blue carpeting brightened up with splashes of yellow and purple. The walls had been painted floor-to-ceiling in royal blue and decorated with posters of current and upcoming movie attractions. To the right was a long, faux-grey granite countertop with six cash registers sitting atop it, with fresh-faced cashiers wearing blue and black uniforms behind each machine. A maze of burnished steel poles and navy blue nylon ribbons assisted in directing traffic when the theatre became overcrowded with anxious ticket-buyers.

To the left was an arcade area with a couple of air hockey tables, a claw machine and four different games. Directly across from the doors was the concession stand, wafting the buttery scent of popcorn towards excited moviegoers.

"Why don't I get the tickets and y'all line up for food?" Bobby suggested, having to raise his voice slightly to be heard above the chatter of other patrons and the music pumping out through hidden speakers somewhere near the ceiling.

"Good idea," Karen agreed, "C'mon Mama, c'mon boys, let's go get something to eat."

The woman smiled as the two brothers ran ahead, coming to a quick stop behind a rather obese man ordering enough snacks for three people.

Karen and Eileen stopped just behind the brothers and the adoptive mother found herself laying her hands on the eight-year old's shoulders. Sam looked at her for a moment from over his shoulder and smiled widely before turning his attention back to his brother.

"Now you boys get anything you like," Karen's mother told the Winchesters, "My treat."

"Mother-" Karen began but Eileen waved a hand.

"It's a Grandmother's job to spoil her grandchildren," she insisted, "And I have many years to make up for."

Karen could only smile and shake her head.

W

Arms full with more snacks than was strictly necessary, the small family made their way into the dimly lit movie theatre.

"You boys sit beside each other," Eileen murmured as they all shuffled into a row and sat down in the center.

As they settled into their seats and organized their treats, Karen heard one of the boys slurp loudly on his soda and again felt a grin spread across her face and her heart swell up with love.

Gently, Bobby nudged her arm with his and offered her some popcorn from the bag he held out. Karen took the offered snack, wondering what she must have done to deserve such joy in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from a Skip West song of the same name.  
> Sorry for the long wait on the update. I have been busy with Real Life and whenever I had a chance to write, I just didn't feel the motivation.  
> Please leave a comment or kudos and I will try and update faster next time. Your support is greatly appreciated.


	15. Loving You

Karen Singer sipped at her mug of tea as she sat in the cramped staff room at the diner. Her break ended in five minutes but she didn't mind. She was thinking of the evening she and Bobby had planned for the boys they had adopted.

It had been a month since she and Bobby had brought Sam and Dean home to Sioux Falls from the orphanage and Karen couldn't imagine life without the Winchesters now.

Bobby had promised to go out today while the boys were at school and pick up the chocolate, marshmallows and graham crackers for the s'mores and hotdogs and buns for dinner.

Karen smiled. Sam and Dean had never been camping before and Bobby had had the idea that they go on a 'camping trip' this weekend. He had dug out an old tent he and his wife hadn't used in years and gathered up some cordwood and accelerant for a bonfire. Although technically illegal in Sioux Falls, Bobby assured Karen that they were far enough outside of the city that there should be no problem with starting a contained fire within their own backyard.

"Karen, we need you up here!" Faye's voice called from the kitchen and Karen sighed, draining her mug of tea and stood, fixing her apron as she did so.

"Coming!" she called as she headed back to work.

W

As Karen moved through the rest of her shift, she found herself again and again thinking of the two brothers she now thought of as 'her boys'.

Both Dean and Sam seemed to really enjoy it here in Sioux Falls. They both had made many friends at the elementary school and were almost always in the company of said friends.

Karen smiled. Dean's friends, a group of seventh-grade boys, who loved basketball, came over nearly every night to play in the long gravel driveway.

Sam's friends, a smaller group than Dean's, were nonetheless just as close. Bryce and Ethan seemed always to be crashing on the couch in front of the television watching movies or playing Karate with one another. The most interesting member of Sam's small circle, however was the girl named Tara. She didn't horse around with the boys but she never failed to show up with them at the front door. Karen thought the girl had a bit of a crush on Sam, in fact.

After such a rocky start to the school year it was nice to know that they were happy at Sioux Falls Elementary. For a few weeks, it looked as though Sam and Dean- Sam in particular- would have one miserable year.

Now, with both boys making friends and doing well in school, Karen felt as though she and Bobby had done the right thing, the best thing in adopting those brothers.

SPN

Sam waved to his brother as he, Ethan, Bryce and Tara walked past the basketball court.

"That's so cool!" Ethan exclaimed when Sam told his friends about the 'camping' he and Dean and the Singers were going to do in the backyard over the weekend.

"Maybe you can come over next time," Sam said. He was sure his friends would like to come over this weekend but this was his and Dean's first time camping and Sam just wanted it to be with Dean and Karen and Bobby.

"My folks take me camping every year in Colorado," Tara spoke up, "We've been going each summer since I was a baby."

Bryce frowned, "We don't do anything in the summer. Just stay here."

Ethan gave him an empathetic look, "There's always the zoo, Bry, and the Splash Pad."

Bryce grimaced, "The Splash Pad's for babies. The only one who likes to go there is Chelsea 'cause she doesn't know any better."

Bryce's younger sister, in Kindergarten at Sioux Falls Elementary, still loved going to the Splash Pad which featured water spraying from nozzles hidden in the rubberized ground, an old-fashioned Merry-Go-'Round, a half-dozen carnival games and food stands. It seemed to Sam that every kid who grew up in Sioux Falls had at one time or another when they were little, gone to the Splash Pad and many recalled the park with fond memories. He supposed that a boy like Bryce wouldn't really like to be dragged there every summer and forced to pretend to be having fun for the sake of his little sister.

"You still love the Pad and you know it," Ethan joked, earning a shove from Bryce.

"Do you think Mr. and Mrs. Singer will take you and Dean anywhere this summer, Sam?" Tara asked, ignoring the two boys who were now involved in a shoving match, laughing and stumbling around in an exaggerated manner.

Sam shrugged, "Maybe. I don't know."

"Maybe you could come to Colorado with me," Tara said and gave Sam a beatific smile, making the boy blush.

Suddenly the girl went staggering forward with a cry of surprise.

"Oops, sorry Tara," Bryce apologized and he and Ethan sobered.

Thoughts of the next summer were far from the eight-year old's mind. It was only the beginning of October and the hot, muggy days of July and August seemed ages away with the chill of fall in the air.

"Hey! Have you ever been out for Halloween?" Bryce spoke up, pushing his way between Tara and Sam.

Sam shrugged, "Not really."

"You've never been out for Halloween?" Bryce asked, seeming aghast at the prospect of his friend never having dressed up in a costume and gone door-to-door getting candy.

Again, Sam shrugged.

Bryce put both hands above his heart, closed his eyes and fell back, stumbling comically.

"I think I'm gonna faint," he muttered.

"You have to go out this year," Ethan insisted, "It'll be cool. Your first Halloween."

Sam smiled wanly.

"We could even help you pick out a costume," Tara agreed, "It'll be fun."

Sam bit the inside of his cheek but nodded. Halloween time always brought thoughts of his father's death and nightmares of fire with it. The holiday that many children associated with dressing up as their favourite TV characters and eating enough candy to tempt the onset of diabetes wasn't exactly fun for the younger Winchester.

Before Sam could be bombarded with any more questions and comments about Halloween, the bell to go back into the school rang. The third-graders quickly made their way back inside, the mood light.

SPN

"C'mon Squirt, hurry up!" Dean called to his brother impatiently as he waited at the door to Mrs. Marquis' third-grade classroom.

Sam's classmates streamed from the room, laughing and shouting, eager to get home and start the weekend.

The younger Winchester was one of the last to leave the classroom, his large backpack dwarfing him; the boy's head down, hair hanging in his face.

"Hey, hey, hold up!" Dean called and grabbed his sibling's shoulder.

"What's up?" Dean asked, bending down so that he could peer into his sibling's face.

"Nothing," Sam muttered, "Don't worry about it."

"Uh huh," Dean replied, using his other hand to lift his sibling's chin, "We're not doing this again, Sam. You tell me what's wrong."

The eight-year old sighed but didn't pull away, "Halloween is this month."

Dean blinked, "Yeah, so?"

"We've never been out Trick-Or-Treating…" Sam replied, hedging.

"Bobby and Karen will get us costumes, don't worry," the twelve-year old assured his brother.

"It's… It's not that, Dean," Sam argued.

"Then what, Sammy," Dean asked, "You know you can tell me anything."

"Halloween just… It just give me nightmares about… well, you know," Sam stammered, "And… and about Mom and Dad…"

Dean sighed and pulled his sibling into a hug, "I know, Sammy. But you can't keep thinking about all the bad stuff all the time, you know? I'm not saying to forget about Dad or Mom but we've got Bobby and Karen now and you've gotta think of all the great stuff they're doing with us, stuff we've never before got to do."

After a moment Dean spoke again, "Does that make sense?"

Sam looked up at his brother, the scarred side of his face pressed against Dean's chest, "Yeah, it does. You're right."

Dean grinned, "Of course I'm right. Now c'mon, Bobby will be waiting for us."

Leaving one hand on his brother's shoulders, Dean led Sam down the hallway towards the exit, looking forward to the evening planned.

SPN

Karen felt the day's stress slip off her shoulders like a weight as she pulled into the gravel driveway. She saw Bobby's pickup already parked in its usual spot close to the house and pulled right up behind it, killing the engine.

She had been waiting for this all day, all week and now that it was here, Karen felt giddy with excitement. She was so glad she and Bobby were able to do these kinds of things with the Winchester brothers.

As Karen stepped out of the car and closed the door, she heard voices coming from the backyard and made her way around the side of the house, wishing to see her husband and boys before going inside to change her clothes.

"Hi Hon," Bobby called when he spotted his wife, both Winchesters looked up and smiled at Karen; Sam waving at her in further greeting.

Karen smiled as she took in the scene in the backyard. The tent had been pitched and its door flap hung open to reveal a sea of pillows and blankets inside. Bobby and the two boys were sitting around a make-shift fire pit- a pile of wood surrounded by leftover bricks the Singers had used to pave their back patio a couple of years ago- as Karen's husband was telling the brothers all about how to properly set up a campsite.

"Can we go camping for real?" Sam asked, "In the woods?"

Bobby chuckled, "Let's see how you like camping out here first, okay?"

The eight-year old turned serious and nodded.

"I'm going to change out of my uniform but I'll be right back out," Karen told the men in her life and headed inside through the back door.

SPN

Bobby couldn't help but beam as the Winchesters listened and watched intently as he demonstrated how to poke a sharpened stick lengthwise through a hot dog so that it could be cooked over the fire.

While Karen went inside to change into some comfortable clothes, Bobby lit the fire; using strips of newspaper as kindling and just a small splash of lighter fluid to get things going.

Although it was still early, Bobby wanted to get the fire going as soon as possible. Besides, by the time they decided to eat the wood should been burned down to some nice coals for cooking.

Along with the wieners, Bobby had picked up buns, as well as ketchup and mustard from the fridge inside. Instead of using their own dishes, he had also bought paper plates to make it feel even more as though they were really camping.

The screen door swung shut with a bang and Karen stepped out, wearing a pair of blue jeans and a yellow sweatshirt; her feet were bare.

"Looks good, Bobby," she commented and came to sit right beside him.

The grizzled mechanic smiled and planted a kiss on his wife's cheek, "Thanks. How was work?"

Karen shrugged, "Oh you know, same old same old."

"How was school today, boys?" she asked the Winchesters.

Dean gave a smirk and answered, "Same old same old."

Chuckling, Karen reached down and grabbed a balled-up piece of newspaper, and tossed it playfully at the twelve-year old.

SPN

"…So she went into the dark bathroom and whispered those two words three times: bloody Mary, bloody Mary, bloody Mary, looked into the mirror and saw… HER OWN REFLECTION!"

Sam jumped as Karen shouted but then laughed once he realized that nothing scary had actually happened.

Reaching towards the open bag of marshmallows, the eight-year old speared one onto the tip of his two-pronged hot dog fork before leaning over to toast the sugary treat.

"Do you know any stories, Bobby? One that's really scary?" Dean asked, eyes sparkling.

"I don't know," the mechanic replied hesitantly, "I don't want to scare you two before you sleep out here on your own."

"We'll be fine," Dean assured him, "Won't we, Sammy?"

The younger brother nodded, mouth full of gooey melted marshmallow.

"Yeah, tell us a scary story, Bobby," Sam agreed, "Please."

The eight-year old saw Karen check her watch and she frowned just as her husband opened his mouth to speak.

"It's late, Bobby," she announced, "And I don't want you to give the boys nightmares."

"We won't have nightmares, we promise," Dean begged but Karen shook her head.

"I don't think it's a good idea," the woman insisted.

"Awww," the twelve-year old groaned but Sam was kind of glad Karen wouldn't let Bobby tell any more scary stories. He was getting tired and he certainly didn't want to have any bad dreams.

Standing, Karen gathered the leftover food packaging and bade goodnight to the brothers.

"If you get cold or scared," she told them, "We'll keep the screen door unlocked so you can come inside."

"Okay," Dean shoved one last marshmallow into his mouth, "But we won't need to. We'll be fine."

Sam stood and stretched and said good night to Bobby and Karen.

The mechanic doused the coals that were left from the fire with some water.

"I'll tell you some stories tomorrow," Bobby promised the brothers and winked. Karen rolled her eyes.

Sam crawled into the ten and flopped down on the pile of blankets and pillows.

Moments later, Dean joined him, zipping the opening of the tent closed. They both listened quietly to the Singers' footsteps as the crossed the patio and the sound of the screen door sliding open and closed.

Within minutes both Winchesters were sound asleep, warm and full and content.

SPN

Karen didn't know how long she lay in bed before she glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Bobby, sleeping beside her, was snoring away, oblivious to his wife.

Sighing, Karen sat up and decided to check on Sam and Dean. They had been outside for a few hours now- it was just past midnight- and she just wanted to make sure they were all right.

Sliding her feet into the slippers she kept at her bedside, Karen moved to the doorway, grabbing her housecoat from the back of the door before she exited the room.

Walking quickly in the cool house, Karen hoped that the boys had enough blankets and when she stepped into the living room grabbed the afghan off the back of the couch, just in case.

Moving quietly, Karen opened the screen door and stepped outside, the stars and moon bright enough to illuminate the backyard in a milky glow and give her a decent view of the dark blue tent where it sat pitched in the grass beside the patio.

Walking forward, she bent down and unzipped the tent flap a couple of inches, just enough to peer inside. Karen smiled at the sight of Sam and Dean, curled up among the blankets and pillows, backs to one another, sleeping as sound as if they were in their bunk beds.

For a long moment Karen simply watched the boys, feeling her throat tighten and her eyes prickle with tears. She had never thought she would love anyone as much as she loved Bobby- but that was before she wanted children- and now she couldn't imagine not being without the two Winchester brothers.

"I love you," Karen whispered quietly, zipping the tent flap shut and heading back inside before Bobby woke and wondered where she was.

"I love you so much."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a song by Minnie Ripperton.  
> Please leave a comment or kudos. Either/or would be much appreciated.


	16. Carpe Diem

Halloween

Sam woke up early on Wednesday morning, excited and nervous for his first real Halloween.

His costume was sitting out, ready for him. Mrs. Marquis was letting the class wear their costumes today and they were going to have a bit of a party just before the end of the day.

"Dean? Hey, Dean, you awake?" Sam called to his brother sleeping in the bunk above his.

"H'nnn," the twelve-year old groaned in response.

Sam sighed and sat up. Deciding he was too antsy to stay in bed, the eight-year old padded across the carpet to the dresser and picked out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt to wear underneath his costume.

The eight-year old hastily dressed before reaching for his Superman costume. He took his time putting on the blue pants and shirt, red boots and cape, donning each piece of clothing as though they were garments required for some ancient and sacred ritual.

Once he was dressed, Sam peered in the mirror above the dresser and laid the flat of his hand against the left side of his face to hide the scars caused by the fire.

"Sammy? You up?" Dean's voice drifted down from the top bunk and the younger boy quickly lowered his hand.

"Yeah, Dean," Sam answered without taking his eyes away from his reflection.

"Why didn't you wake me?" the twelve-year old asked and climbed down the ladder, jumping down the last few rungs to the floor.

Sam shrugged.

"Woah, that looks great, Sammy!" Dean exclaimed, admiring his brother's costume with an exaggerated air.

The eight-year old smiled. Only Dean could say such things and not sound as though he were trying too hard.

Dean pulled on the first part of his costume- a long black robe, tattered at the ends of the sleeves and on the hem- and a zombie mask that covered his entire head, complete with grey skin, bright red sores, jutting yellow teeth, sickly green eyes and a bulbous nose.

"How do I look?" the twelve-year old asked, his voice muffled by the rubber mask.

"Terrifying," Sam answered and gave a small smile. He didn't like the mask, it really creeped him out.

"Boys! Are you awake?" Karen's voice called out from down the hallway.

"Yes!" both Sam and Dean called in unison.

"Don't be too long," Karen replied, her voice softer now that she was closer to the door, "You still need breakfast before you go to school."

Dean pulled the mask off and stuffed it into his backpack.

"C'mon Squirt," he said to his brother, "Enough preening in the mirror."

Sam gave him a lopsided smile, grabbed his own backpack and followed Dean out the door and downstairs.

Karen was already in the kitchen, scooping ground coffee into the maker.

"Good morning boys," Karen greeted, "Excited for tonight?"

"Yeah!" Dean exclaimed and gave an exaggerated growl deep in his throat, "Ready to scare all the little kiddies!"

"Can I please have the cereal, Karen?" Sam asked and sat down at the table.

"Of course," she answered and pulled a box of cereal for the boy.

Dean grabbed the cereal box before his brother could and brought it to the counter with him to pour it into a couple of bowls for them.

"Here you go," the twelve-year old said and put one bowl in front of his brother.

"Thanks," Sam said and reached for the milk jug.

"Can we go out as soon as we get home?" Dean asked, already digging into his own cereal, sans milk as usual.

"We'll have to see," Karen told him, "People might not be ready to hand out candy right after school lets out."

Dean sighed, "Isn't it safer during the da-"

"AHHH!" Sam's cry of fear interrupted Dean and Karen, alarmed, ran to the younger boy's side.

Peering into the cereal bowl, both woman and child saw a brown plastic rat floating in the milk.

Dean snorted into his own cereal, thinking the entire thing hilarious.

"Where did you get that thing, Dean?" Karen asked, picking the toy up by its rubbery tail.

"I borrowed it from Jerome," the twelve-year old answered.

Sam, though, didn't seem to find the toy rat all that humorous and looked up at his adoptive mother, "Can I have toast instead?"

"Aw c'mon Shrimp," Dean commented, "Don't be sore, it was just a joke."

The eight-year old turned his face away from his brother and said nothing. Dean, realizing that he might have gone too far, sighed, "Hey, Sammy, sorry. I thought you'd laugh. Didn't mean to scare you."

Sam peered at his brother from the corner of his eye and gave a small smile to let Dean know he was forgiven.

W

After a breakfast of toast and peanut butter, Sam kissed Karen on the cheek and followed Dean and Bobby- who had clearly just rolled out of bed- out to the pickup truck for a ride to school.

"You boys don't give yer teachers any trouble," the mechanic warned the Winchesters on the way to Sioux Falls Elementary, "Just 'cause it's Halloween doesn't mean you get a free pass."

Dean promised he wouldn't get into trouble. Sam remained quiet. After the episode with Billy, there hadn't been any more trips to the principal's office or calls home.

The twelve-year old leaned over and turned on the radio, cranking up the volume when the 'Monster Mash' began playing and started to sing along, poking his sibling in the side playfully as he did so.

SPN

"Cool mask, Dean!" Jerome announced as the elder Winchester slid out of the pickup truck and pulled the zombie mask over his face, shuffling towards his friend and making low, gurgling 'urrrrrghhh' sounds in his throat.

His friend was dressed up as Raphael from the Ninja Turtles, complete with plastic ninja blades.

"Did you see the others?" Dean asked once he was close enough to his friends.

Jerome smiled as he pulled his plastic turtle head up over his face, "Yeah, I did. This is gonna be good."

"Hey, Dean!" Mark called and the elder Winchester turned to his friends and burst out laughing.

"Really?" he asked, hands on his knees.

Mark, Aiden and Glenn were also dressed up as Ninja Turtles.

"Did you guys plan this?" Dean asked and Mark nodded, looking sheepish.

"Where's Corey?" Dean wondered, "Don't tell me he's Shredder."

"There he is now," Aiden said and pointed to the red minivan pulling up to the curb, driven by Corey's mother.

The boy yanked open the van's sliding door and stepped out, dressed in a generic pirate costume, complete with eye patch and stuffed parrot swaying from his shoulder.

"What, you couldn't be a Ninja Turtle?" Dean asked as Corey approached them and all the boys laughed good-naturedly.

The bell to signal the start of the school day rang and the boys headed inside, joking and roughhousing playfully.

SPN

The mood in Mrs. Marquis' third-grade class was festive. She had decorated her classroom with fake cobwebs, black plastic spiders, a Jack-O-Lantern sat on her desk and a troupe of skeletons hung in the windows at the back of the room.

Mrs. Marquis herself was dressed up as a witch in a long, dark green iridescent dress, with a large black hat, a false nose that had a large wart on it, and a wooden broomstick, which she propped against the wall behind her desk.

All of Sam's classmates and friends were also dressed in costumes. Bryce was Hulk Hogan, Tara was the pink Power Ranger and Ethan was G.I. Joe.

"We're the best Super Hero team ever!" Bryce had exclaimed once Sam had joined the group before the start of school.

Now the best Super Hero team ever was sitting in the back of the class, reading over a copy of 'The Monkey's Paw' and discussing what they'd do if they were given the cursed paw.

"I'd ask for a never ending supply of Twinkies," Bryce told his friends matter-of-factly.

"That's dumb," Tara commented, "I'd wish for world peace."

Ethan snorted, "Really, Tare?"

"What's wrong with that?" the girl exclaimed, "Wouldn't you want world peace?"

"I think you can only ask for physical things," Sam interrupted, "Like money."

"What about you, Sam? What would you ask for?" Tara asked.

"Would you… Would you ask for your Mom and Dad back?" Bryce asked, his eyes wide.

"Bryce!" Tara shrieked.

Sam smiled self-consciously, "I wouldn't wish for that. Especially if it ended up like the couple's son in the end."

His friends grew quiet.

"Besides, I have a Mom and Dad," Sam continued.

Ethan nodded, "Yeah, you do. Mr. and Mrs. Singer are super nice. They're great. We'd never have gotten to meet you if it wasn't for them."

W

"Dance with me, Sam!" Tara called and grabbed the boy's hands, pulling her towards her.

It was the last period of the day and as promised, Mrs. Marquis had pushed all the desks out of the way, put on some scary music- the Monster Mash, Thriller, the Ghost Busters theme- and brought out a punch bowl of Orange Crush soda, pretzels, popcorn and potato chips.

Ethan and Bryce whooped loudly as Sam moved awkwardly to the music along with Tara, a blush turning his face red but smiling anyway.

As Sam danced with Tara he tried to remember a time when he had been so happy and realized that he couldn't.

SPN

"C'mon Sam! Let's go before all the good candy's gone!" Dean urged as he dragged his brother down the hallway ten seconds after school let out.

The eight-year old hurried along after his brother, wondering if maybe Dean hadn't already had all the good candy.

"Dean! Slow down! You're going too fast!" Sam complained and his brother staggered to a stop.

"Sorry Sammy," the twelve-year old apologized.

"Hey, did everyone like your costume?" Dean asked and Sam nodded, telling him about his friends' costumes as well.

"That's adorable," Dean smiled when he heard about the best Super Hero team.

Sam scowled good-naturedly.

"Hey, wanna piggy-back ride like when you were little?" The twelve-year old offered suddenly.

"Really?" Sam asked, "You haven't done that in a long time."

"I know," Dean said, "But I feel like doing it now."

"Okay," Sam agreed. Most kids were already gone, heading home for a quick dinner before going out to Trick-Or-Treat so the eight-year old wouldn't feel embarrassed about it. Not that anyone would make fun of him, most of the kids still remembered the story of how Billy the Ghost had almost killed him and how his brother had destroyed him- even a month later Sam and Dean were still kind of heroes of the school.

Dean crouched down and Sam climbed onto his back, wrapping his arms around his brother's neck.

"Got it?" the older brother asked and Sam nodded, "Yeah."

The twelve-year old took hold of the eight-year's legs to help steady him and stood, walking towards the exit.

Sam smiled and laid his cheek against his brother's back.

W

Dean bit his tongue when Karen insisted they have something to eat before going out.

"Having something in your bellies will keep you warm," Karen told the boys as she scooped Kraft Dinner into bowls for them.

The twelve-year old squeezed ketchup onto his macaroni and cheese and began devouring it in his haste to go out and Trick-Or-Treat.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Dean, they're not gonna run out of candy."

"How do you know, Sammy? How do you know?" Dean asked with exaggerated panic, pointing a clot of cheesy noodles and ketchup at his brother with his fork.

W

"Will you boys be warm enough?" Karen asked as Sam and Dean stood in the foyer with Bobby, ready to go out.

"Yeah," Dean said, "We'll be fine."

"Okay," the woman said, "Remember to look when you cross the road, and don't eat anything until you get home."

"We promise," Dean told her, stepping anxiously from foot to foot.

Sam snorted and followed Bobby outside, pillowcase slung over his shoulder.

The mechanic unlocked the pickup truck and the boys climbed in. Since the Singers lived away from the town, on a rural road, they were going to drive into a more suburban area to go Trick-Or-Treating.

Bobby smiled at the excitement in both boys as he pulled out of the driveway and began heading towards town, glad to be a part of this first Halloween with the Winchesters.

SPN

"Can we go just a little farther, please?" Dean begged, elbowing his brother so Sam would give Bobby what Dean coined 'puppy-dog eyes'.

"You already have a lot of candy, boys, and its getting late," the mechanic said.

They had been trolling the streets of Sioux Falls for three hours, sometimes by themselves, sometimes meeting up with their friends but it seemed as though the magic of the holiday hadn't worn off just yet.

"Halloween will still be here next year," Bobby told them.

Dean sighed and glanced at his brother. The poor boy looked dead on his feet.

"Okay," the twelve-year old gave in, "Let's go home."

They tiredly walked back to the pickup truck and climbed in, heading home, Sam falling asleep five minutes into the drive.

W

"Did you boys have fun?" Karen asked as Bobby and the two brothers stumbled inside.

"Yeah! We got tons of candy!" Dean held up his pillowcase proudly.

"Good," Karen smiled, "I'm glad you had fun. Why don't you bring your candy into the kitchen so Bobby and I can go through it and you and Sam can have a piece each before bed."

Sam just shook his head, "Can I go to bed?"

"Of course," Karen said, looking slightly concerned but Bobby smiled, "He's just had a busy night."

Sam handed over his pillowcase to Karen and allowed Bobby to pick him up and carry him upstairs.

Dean followed his adoptive mother into the kitchen, practically drooling at the thought of getting to sample some candy before bed.

Karen sat Sam's bag down on the counter before she took Dean's and poured its contents onto the kitchen table.

With a keen eye, the woman checked for open packaging or wrappings that had been clearly homemade and after finding nothing suspect allowed Dean to have some candy.

"Did you have a good time? Was it what you expected?" Karen asked.

Dean nodded, stuffing a whole bite-sized Snickers bar into his mouth.

"It was pretty cool," he told her, "A lot of people decorated their houses."

"I remember going out for Halloween with my Mom," Karen reminisced, "We'd get boxes of raisins, apples, peanut brittle, mints or even hard candies sometimes. Nothing like what you kids get nowadays."

Dean swallowed his mouthful and reached into his pile of treats, handing a small Oh Henry! bar to Karen.

"Thank you, Dean," she said and unwrapped the chocolate.

They both looked up as Bobby stepped into the kitchen, "He's out like a light. Just let him sleep in his costume."

Glancing at the clock on the stove, Karen looked to the twelve-year old, "It's time you went to bed as well. You still have school tomorrow."

Dean grabbed a package of chocolate-covered almonds and tipped them into his mouth before standing. Karen couldn't help but laugh, "And no more candy tonight!"

"Hurry off to bed or you'll be exhausted tomorrow!"

"Thanks," Dean said and gave Karen a kiss on the cheek, "Mom."

With that the twelve-year old headed out of the kitchen and upstairs.

SPN

Sam was fast asleep by the time Dean had changed into his pajamas and climbed up onto the top bunk.

The eight-year old sighed and rolled over, his sleep untroubled by bad dreams.

Thanksgiving

"Grandma!" Sam called excitedly as Eileen stepped through the door into the Singer household awash with the scents of roasting turkey and stuffing.

"Samuel!" the elderly lady held out her arms for a hug and the boy delivered, embracing the woman tightly.

"Where's Dean?" Eileen asked, straightening up and peering around the entryway.

"Watching football with Bobby in the living room," Sam answered, reaching out for Eileen's bag.

"Oh, thank you," she said and smiled as Sam took her bag into the living room.

"Hey Mama," Karen said as she stepped out of the kitchen, "How was the flight?"

"Oh fine," Eileen said and hugged her daughter, "It'd be better if your no-good husband had been at the airport."

Karen chuckled, "You know Bobby; he can't miss the game."

"Hi!" Dean poked his head out from the den.

"Come and give your grandmother a hug," Eileen demanded and the twelve-year old came forward to do just that.

"Do you need help with anything, Dear?" Eileen asked Karen and the younger woman shook her head.

"Sam's been helping me all day," she told her mother, smiling.

Eileen nodded and followed Karen into the kitchen, sitting down at the table.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Karen asked.

"A tea would be nice," Eileen said and her daughter began to fill the kettle with water.

Sam entered the kitchen and grabbed a baking sheet that was sitting on the stovetop, waiting to go into the oven.

"Look what I made!" he brought the sheet forward so Eileen could see the cookies sitting on top of it.

"Those look delicious," the old woman complimented.

"They're white chocolate and cranberry," Sam told her, "They're Karen's favourite."

"There's not much to do in here right now, Sam," Karen said as the boy put the baking sheet back on top of the stove, "Why don't you watch some of the game with Dean and Bobby?"

"Okay," Sam said and left the room to spend some time with his brother and adoptive father.

SPN

"Everything looks good enough to eat, Hon," Bobby joked as everyone sat down to dinner.

"With no help from you," Karen said with a wry smile.

"I carved the bird!" Bobby argued.

"Yes, you did," his wife agreed, laying a hand on his arm.

"Mom, would you start us off with grace?" Karen asked and Eileen nodded, clasping her gnarled hands in front and bowing her head.

Bobby watched as the two boys automatically followed the adults' actions and bowed their heads.

After a moment or so, the prayer of thanksgiving was over and heads were lifted in anticipation of a delicious meal.

Just as Bobby was about to take a slice of turkey the doorbell rang.

"Now who can that be?" he asked and stood up.

Karen looked to him but Bobby told her that they should start without him.

Sighing, the mechanic made his way down the short hallway to the front door and opened it to reveal Mr. Kinley.

"Oh, uh hello," Bobby said, "Are you here for a visit, Mr. Kinley?"

The man nodded, "Just a quick one, Mr. Singer, to make sure everything is going well."

Bobby stepped aside and motioned the man in.

"Working on Thanksgiving, eh? That's gotta be a downer."

Mr. Kinley smiled, "It is."

Bobby led the man into the kitchen.

"Mr. Kinley, is everything all right?" Karen asked immediately, worry crossing her features.

"Everything is fine," he assured her, "I just came to check in."

"Can I get you anything? We have more than enough food," Karen offered, half-standing up from the table.

Mr. Kinley motioned for her to sit back down, "It's all right. I'm fine. But thank you."

Aware that they were being scrutinized, the Winchesters self-consciously picked at their food, Dean swallowing a large mouthful of mashed potatoes painfully.

"How have things been going in school?" the CPS agent asked.

Karen smiled, "Both boys are doing very well. We just got their Report Cards a few weeks ago; Sam had straight A's."

"And home life? Sam, Dean, are you still happy here with Mr. and Mrs. Singer?" Mr. Kinley asked.

The eight-year old looked up, "Yes sir. We went camping in the backyard and went out for Halloween and I helped Karen make dinner today."

Mr. Kinley nodded, his gaze piercing, analyzing.

"Then I'll leave you all to your dinner," he said and smiled.

"Would you like something to take with you?" Karen insisted, "We have cookies."

The CPS agent appeared to think of the offer for a moment and then nodded, "That'd be lovely. Thank you."

Karen smiled and got up from the table, walking to where the cookies Sam had made were cooling on the baking sheet. Taking a paper towel, she used a spatula to scrape a cookie off the metal sheet before placing it on the towel.

"Here you go," Karen brought the wrapped cookie to the man, "Thank you for stopping by. Happy Thanksgiving.'

SPN

Full of turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie, the family headed out to the backyard for an impromptu football game- Sam and Dean against Bobby- and to enjoy the pleasant late November weather before the snow came.

"C'mon Sammy! Tackle him! Tackle him!" Dean shouted at his brother as the younger boy faced off against Bobby who was holding the football, ready to toss it over the child's head.

Sam let out a feral shout and jumped on the mechanic, tickling Bobby under the arms to force him to give up the ball.

Bobby, laughing far too hard, stumbled back and landed on his rear end, started laughing even harder. Dean, seeing his chance, ran forward, grabbed the ball from the man's slack hands and tossed it before dropping onto Bobby himself, roughhousing along with his brother.

"St-Stop!" the mechanic cried out between fits of laughter, "I s-surrender! Uncle! UNCLE!"

Sam and Dean stopped and lay on either side of their adoptive father, panting and chuckling.

"That's it, time for payback!" Bobby growled and grabbed Sam, holding the child above his head. Dean was holding his belly and laughing at the sight of his brother dangling over Bobby's head, a large grin on his face.

SPN

"And Bobby didn't think he'd be a good father?" Eileen asked her daughter rhetorically as they watched them play.

Karen smiled and shrugged.

"When are you going to tell him?" her mother asked curiously.

"Not yet," her daughter replied, "It's still too soon. I haven't even been to see the doctor yet."

"I'm so happy for you," Eileen smiled and hugged her daughter tightly.

SPN

"D-Dean," Sam groaned from his bunk, "D-D-"

"Sammy? Sammy, are you okay?" the twelve-year old asked and peered over the edge of the bed just in time to see his brother hanging his head over his own mattress and vomit onto the floor.

"Crap," Dean said and quickly climbed down.

"I'll go get Karen."

Sam didn't speak. He closed his eyes and panted through the pain in his stomach.

"Sam!" Karen's voice startled the boy and he felt himself being lifted into a sitting position, the woman cradling him on her lap.

"I'm s-sorry," the boy muttered.

"It's all right, Sweetheart," Karen murmured and pressed her palm against his brow.

"You don't feel warm," she said, "I think you just ate too much."

The eight-year old cuddled against his adoptive mother, "Don't leave."

Karen sighed, "I won't, Sam. I'll stay right here."

SPN

Dean watched worriedly as Sam huddled against Karen.

"He's gonna be okay?" he whispered and the woman nodded.

"He just needs some rest," Karen assured him.

Once Sam was asleep again- it did not take him long- Karen laid him down on his bed and pulled the covers up.

"He should be all right now," she told Dean.

The twelve-year old nodded but instead of going back to his own bunk, he crawled in beside his brother.

"Goodnight," he murmured to Karen, "And thanks."

The woman smiled and turned out the light, heading back down the hallway to the bedroom she shared with her husband.

Christmas

Sam was nearly dozing on the couch when Karen entered the den.

"It's time for you and Dean to get to bed."

"Awww," Dean, sitting in front of the television watching 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer' groaned.

"If you don't go to sleep now, Santa Claus won't come," Karen warned, earning a smirk from Dean.

"Can we leave some cookies out for him?" Sam asked, sliding off the couch.

"Sure," Karen said, "Why don't you go into the kitchen with Bobby and pick out some cookies you'd like to leave."

Bobby, who was sitting at the kitchen table and drinking coffee, greeted Sam as he walked into the room.

"Karen said we should leave cookies out for Santa," the eight-year old said.

"All right, which ones do you think he'd like?" Bobby stood up and took down a couple of Christmas tins from the counter that had been filled with Karen's baking.

Together, boy and man picked out six cookies and arranged them on a saucer for St. Nicholas.

"What about milk?" Bobby asked and Sam nodded, thinking for a moment, "Maybe eggnog?"

"Sounds good," the mechanic poured a glass of eggnog and carried it into the den while Sam carried the saucer of cookies.

"Santa will love those," Karen said as the offering was placed on the coffee table.

"Okay, now off to bed you two," Karen encouraged and smiled as the boys ran up the stairs.

Turning to the Christmas tree they had set up in a corner of the room, Karen sighed, looking at the small pile of gifts already nestled beneath the pine's boughs.

Stepping forward, she bent down and took two wrapped gifts from beneath the tree.

"Almost forgot about these," she told her husband, "I'll take these up to the boys."

SPN

"Sam? Dean? Can I come in?"

The twelve-year old opened the door to see Karen standing in the hall with a couple of gifts in her hands.

"I almost forgot to give you these," she told the boys.

"Aren't we supposed to wait 'til tomorrow?" Sam asked.

"Well, these ones are okay to open tonight," she assured the boys and both brothers tore into the wrapping to reveal a pair of flannel pajamas- Sam's was green and Dean's was red.

"I've always liked the idea of getting new pajamas every Christmas," Karen told them.

"Thanks!" Sam said, hugging the warm pair of pajamas to him, "They're cool!"

"Thanks Karen," Dean said, more sedate than his sibling.

"Have a good night, you two," Karen smiled, "And remember, no staying up late."

"We won't," Dean promised, "Goodnight."

Dressing in their new pajamas, the Winchesters climbed into bed.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam called, staring up at the bottom of his brother's bunk in the darkened room.

"Yeah Sammy," Dean replied, his voice muffled because he was lying on his stomach.

"Do you think Santa's gonna get us everything we asked for?"

For a moment there was no response.

"You do know there's no such thing as Santa Claus, right?"

Now it was Sam's turn to be quiet.

"Yeah, I know," he muttered, "But it's still fun to pretend."

"I bet we're gonna get lots of great stuff," Dean told his brother.

"Yeah," Sam agreed and smiled, closing his eyes and quickly falling asleep.

SPN

"Bobby! Karen! Bobby! Karen!"

The mechanic groaned and sat up in bed at the voices shouting at him and his wife from the other side of the closed door.

"Looks like we're getting up, Hon," Bobby told Karen and his wife smiled, her eyes still closed.

"Hold on!" the adoptive father called out and stood, stretching.

"Hurry up!" Dean cried anxiously and Bobby chuckled.

"It's all right, son," he said as he approached the door, grabbing his housecoat off the hook on its back, "It's not like the presents are going anywhere."

Pulling open the door, Bobby couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of both boys dancing from foot to foot excitedly as though they needed to use the facilities.

"C'mon with me," he said and started down the stairs, "I'll get the coffee started."

Shaking his head as both Winchesters slipped past him and made it to the main floor before he did, Bobby was glad that they could be so excited for Christmas.

"Stay in the kitchen for a bit until Karen comes down, will ya?"

Sam and Dean sat at the table with barely-contained patience as Bobby started up the coffeemaker and pre-heated the over for the make-ahead French toast Karen had prepared the night before.

By the time Karen walked down the stairs, Bobby was drinking from a mug of coffee while Dean and Sam enjoyed hot chocolate.

"Were you waiting long?" Karen asked as she entered the kitchen.

"Nah," Bobby replied as both Sam and Dean ran into the living room, almost sloshing hot chocolate onto the floor.

W

"That was delicious, dear," Bobby sat back in his chair, complimenting Karen on the French toast.

The family had had a leisurely morning, pulling treats out of stockings, opening presents, and eating a hot breakfast. It didn't seem to Bobby as though things could get better.

"Before you two run off," Karen began, wiping her mouth with her napkin, "There's something I'd like to tell you. Something you need to know too, Bobby."

Bobby glanced at his wife, curious. Sam and Dean waited anxiously for Karen to speak her piece.

"I feel like in the past four months we've really grown and become a tight-knit family," Karen began, "I know I can't imagine life without you boys and would do anything for you two."

Bobby smiled; Sam and Dean gazed down at their dirty plates, sheepish.

"Bobby, I've seen you really step up to become the father you were always afraid you wouldn't be," Karen continued, smiling.

"And now I think it's the time to tell you that I think we're ready to welcome a new member to our family."

Bobby watched as Sam and Dean turned to look at each other, confused.

"I'm pregnant," Karen said, "I'm going to have a baby!"

The mechanic's heart skipped a beat, "Oh Karen!"

Standing, Bobby moved around the table to his wife, reaching out to hug her tightly, tears in his eyes.

"I can't believe it," Bobby murmured to Karen, "After all this time. We're going to have a real family."

SPN

Dean swung the new hockey stick he'd gotten for Christmas just that morning as hard as he could, sending the puck hurtling towards the garage door.

Sam sat beside him in the snow, watching wordlessly.

It wasn't fair! Why did Karen have to be pregnant? Weren't he and Dean good enough for her?

Sam sniffed and wiped his face with one snow-crusted mitten. He didn't want to have to go back to the orphanage. He didn't think he could take it if they made him go back again.

Karen had seemed so nice; she had been just like a Mom should be, and now it was all going to end. She was going to have her own kid and she wouldn't love him and Dean anymore.

Sam's sniffing became more pronounced until he had tears leaking down his face.

"Sammy," Dean stopped punishing the garage door with the puck and sank down onto the snow with his brother, wrapping his arms around him.

"I r-really liked K-Karen and Bobby!" Sam lamented, "I th-thought they l-liked us too!"

"I know," Dean murmured, "But we can't give up. We'll find family."

"Wh-when do you think th-they'll send us back?" Sam asked, resting his head against his brother's chest, "I d-don't want to leave my friends."

"It's not f-fair, Dean," Sam cried, "Wh-why does this a-always happen to us?"

"I don't know, Sammy," the twelve-year old sighed and wiped at his own eyes.

"Sam? Dean? What's wrong?"

The boys didn't even look up at the sound of Karen's voice, didn't respond as she continued to ask what was troubling them as she stepped towards them.

"When are you gonna take us back?!" Sam spat, "Now that you have your own kid!"

Karen stopped where she was, her mouth open in shock at the child's vehement outburst.

"What are you talking about, Sam?"

"You're gonna take us back to the Better Days House," the boy replied matter-of-factly, his eyes burning in his thin face.

"Why would I take you back? I adopted you," Karen asked, "You're my sons…"

"The baby," she whispered to herself, then louder to Sam and Dean, "Oh no, no, I'm so sorry."

Sam glared at the woman and Dean looked as though he wanted to use his hockey stick on her.

Karen's eyes shone with unshed tears and she raised a hand to her mouth.

"I'm so sorry I made you think that…"

"I love you, the both of you," Karen told them, "And would never take you back to Kansas just because I'm having a baby."

Both boys remained silent. Karen, tears sliding down her face, moved closer to them.

"Just because Bobby and I are having a baby doesn't mean that we don't love you anymore."

Sam pushed his brother away, "Promise?"

Karen nodded.

Slowly, the eight-year old stood up and approached the woman. Gingerly he reached out and hugged her.

Karen broke down sobbing, embracing the child to her chest tightly.

Dean moved forward and peered down at Karen and Sam. He didn't hug her but the expression on his face said it all: he was going to trust Karen that she wouldn't lie to them.

"I love you two," Karen murmured against Sam's head, his hair tickling her face, "And nothing will ever change that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Green Day song of the same name.  
> Please leave Kudos or a Comment!


	17. No Good Deed

The first day of January dawned cold and icy, so much so in fact that all the schools in Sioux Falls and the surrounding areas were closed, as well as many business in town, including the diner where Karen worked.

Bobby however, didn't get a day off and woke before the sun was out to help pull people who thought they could drive like maniacs out of snow banks.

"I'll be home for lunch," the mechanic and tow-truck driver told his wife, leaning over to kiss her before he left.

SPN

Sam and Dean woke up, groggy and blinking owlishly.

"What time is it?" the twelve-year old muttered and peered drowsily at the alarm clock sitting on the dresser.

"Oh crap!" Dean jumped up, nearly cracking his head on the ceiling and hurried down the ladder, "We're late!"

Sam gazed at the clock and his eyes widened in shock.

"Why didn't Karen get us up?" he asked and leaped out of bed, clawing through the drawers in the dresser for clothes.

Karen, maybe having heard the boys moving overhead, knocked on the door before opening it, "Boys?"

She smiled at the sight of the brothers half-dressed and staring at her with deer-in-the-headlights expressions.

"It's okay," she said, "There's no school today. It's closed."

Dean sagged, "I knew that."

Sam rolled his eyes, "No you didn't."

Dean stuck his tongue out at his brother.

Chuckling, Karen asked the boys what they wanted for breakfast.

"Can we have waffles?" Sam asked and Karen said that she would make them.

"Thanks," the eight-year old smiled as she closed the door, giving them privacy to get dressed.

Sam snorted laughter at his brother, "You should have seen your face when you thought we were late!"

"Hey!" Dean grumbled, "You were pissing your pants, Sam!"

The younger brother shook his head and dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a new grey sweatshirt he'd gotten for Christmas.

Once Dean was dressed, both boys headed downstairs and met Karen in the kitchen. She already had the waffle iron out and was mixing batter in a large bowl.

"Can I help?" Sam asked, walking up to the counter.

"Sure," Karen smiled, "Why don't you grab a chair so you can reach?"

The boy nodded and dragged a chair to the counter, standing on it and peered into the sizzling iron.

"Can I scoop the first waffle?" Sam asked and the woman nodded, handing him a ladle.

The eight-year old took the ladle, scooped up a generous helping of batter and lowered it towards the waffle iron.

Karen reached out and laid a hand on the back of Sam's neck. The boy looked up at her for a moment and smiled; she smiled back.

The child poured the batter onto the iron and Karen closed the lid tightly.

"Why don't you go sit with Dean and I'll finish these waffles?" the adoptive mother asked and Sam jumped off the chair, dragging it back across the linoleum floor and plopping down onto it once it was back at the table.

"Can we go out sledding today?" Dean asked, before drinking deeply from a glass of orange juice.

Karen, carefully peeling the first waffle away from the iron, said that they could, "Maybe after lunch."

"Cool," Dean smiled and Sam grinned back at him.

W

With the last waffle eaten and bellies full, the brothers headed outside to play.

"Don't stay out too long," Karen called from the kitchen where she was loading the old dishwasher, "And keep your hats and mittens on, boys!"

"We will!" Dean replied and ran outside with his brother.

As soon as the Winchesters were out of the house, Dean took a running leap off the porch and into a snow bank, laughing like a maniac.

Sam, standing on the steps, bent down and grabbed a handful of snow, shaping it into a rough sphere and tossing it at Dean when he stuck his head up.

"Hey!" Dean cried, "C'mere you!"

Plowing through the snow, the twelve-year old rushed forward and grabbed his brother around the middle, carrying him like a sack of potatoes off the porch and dropping him into the same snow bank he'd leaped into just moments ago.

W

Three hours later, Sam and Dean trudged inside, cold and wet but grinning broadly.

As they peeled off their jackets and snow pants, Karen peered in at the boys from the living room, "Why don't we watch a movie?"

"Yeah!" Sam exclaimed, shoving off his boots.

"Good," their adoptive mother answered, "Why don't I make you boys some hot chocolate?"

"Okay," Dean replied, "Thanks."

Karen smiled and went into the kitchen, "Why don't you pick a movie while you wait?"

The Winchesters went into the den, Dean jumping on the couch sprawling out; Sam laid down facing the television.

"What do you want to watch, Sammy?" the twelve-year old asked.

"The Goonies," the little brother answered instantly.

Dean stood up and took the VSH down from the shelf beside the television and turned on the player.

"Is it okay if we watch 'The Goonies'?" the older brother called to Karen.

There was no response form the kitchen and Dean frowned. Thinking that Karen just hadn't heard him, the twelve-year old shrugged and slid the cassette into the VCR. The boy frowned when the lights in the living room suddenly went out before quickly coming back on again.

"What was that?" Sam asked, peering at Dean worriedly.

"Power surge," Dean replied, "Must be the weather."

"Boys," Karen's voice wafted towards the brothers from the other room, "Would you come in here for a minute, please?"

Sam looked up at his brother, frowning.

Dean pressed the 'play' button on the VCR and then he and his brother went into the kitchen.

Karen was standing in the middle of the floor, a smile on her face.

"Karen?" Dean said, "Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm just peachy," the woman said and her blue eyes turned completely black, "I'm just fine."

Before either child could react Karen lifted her hands and both Sam and Dean were slammed into the walls on either side of the doorway.

"What-" the twelve-year old gasped, his mind reeling. He hung suspended above the ground, unable to move, pinned to the wall by an invisible force.

Karen's smile grew wider and turned wolfish. Her black eyes bored into the brothers' fearful ones.

"Now," she said in a sickly sweet voice, "Who wants to die first?"

The woman turned her head to Sam, "How about you, you ugly little shit?"

"No!" Dean cried out as Karen's hand curled into a fist and Sam gasped for air.

"SAM!" the twelve-year old shouted as his brother wheezed, his face going purple, his legs kicking against the wall uselessly.

"STOP IT!"

Dean fought against the invisible force holding him against the wall but it was no use. He wasn't strong enough.

"D'n," Sam choked out and Dean's eyes widened at the sight of blood trickling down the corner of his brother's mouth.

"Let him go! Let him go! Please!" Dean cried, tears filling his eyes and spilling over, "Leave him alone!"

The older Winchester startled at the sound of the front door banging open and the thud of heavy boots on the hardwood floor. Bobby was home!

"Bobby! Bobby, help!" Dean cried out, not daring to take his eyes away from his brother. Sam's lips were now turning blue and his eyes were glazed, his struggles becoming weaker.

From the corner of his eye, Dean saw the mechanic pass through the threshold of the kitchen.

"Bobby, help," Dean said quietly, "Please."

The boys' adoptive father turned to look at the child and Dean gave a strangled cry when Bobby's eyes flashed a sickly yellow before returning their normal grey.

"No!" Dean wailed but Bobby ignored him.

Lifting his right hand, the mechanic raised the pistol he was holding as well.

"You fucked up," Bobby growled and pulled the trigger.

Dean squeezed his eyes closed at the sound of the shot but when he opened them again there was a dark red hole in Karen's chest and it was rapidly growing.

The woman lifted her head, tilting it far back on her neck and thick black smoke streamed out of her mouth, roiling and rising to the vent over the oven and disappeared. Karen collapsed to the kitchen floor, Sam and Dean following her down.

The twelve year old lay still, in a state of shock, and watched in silent horror as Bobby threw his head back in a similar fashion as Karen only moments ago and clotted yellow smoke squeezed from his mouth, following the black mist out through the vent over the stove.

Dean closed his eyes, his head pounding, listening to his adoptive father as he rushed to his wife's side, crying.

"Karen, no, stay with me," Bobby moaned, "Please, stay awake, stay with me."

The twelve-year old let out a sigh and let sleep take him out of this nightmare this day had become.

SPN

Dean refused to leave his brother.

He had woken up just as paramedics entered the Singer household and had climbed into the back of the waiting ambulance along with his sibling. Karen was taken away in a second ambulance; Bobby in the back of a police cruiser.

Dean wouldn't stay in the waiting room and so he'd been allowed to sit in the hallway outside of the operating room where his brother was, a female police officer sitting against the wall right next to him.

Although the twelve-year old knew the police were going to want to talk to him and Sam, no one had approached him with questions, at least not yet. Not even his companion, an Officer Ramirez, had asked him what had happened in the kitchen.

The door to the operating room opened and Dean stood up as Sam's doctor stepped out, her blue smock streaked red.

"Is Sammy gonna be okay?" he asked.

The doctor, an older woman with curly grey hair and kind eyes, pulled down her mask and smiled.

"He's just resting now but he'll be all right."

Dean nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. Officer Ramirez reached out and drew him towards her; Dean didn't fight the woman and wrapped his arms around her middle, needing the comfort.

"What happened?" Dean asked, still holing onto Ramirez.

The doctor frowned, "I really shouldn't discuss this without-"

"You tell me what happened my brother!" Dean snapped, "I saw blood coming out of his mouth! Tell me what happened!"

The doctor nodded, "Your brother had two cracked ribs, a bruised liver and a lacerated spleen."

Dean stared up at the surgeon, "But he'll be okay, right?"

"Yes, your brother will make a full recovery."

"Why don't we get you something to eat while we wait for Sam to wake up?" Officer Ramirez suggested and although Dean wasn't hungry at all he nodded and followed the policewoman down the hallway.

"When can I see Karen?" the twelve-year old asked, worried about his adoptive mother, "Can we go see her?"

Officer Ramirez frowned, "I don't know, Dean."

"Is she okay? She got shot in the chest but… but she's okay, right? Like Sammy? You don't always die if you get shot in the chest, right, Officer Ramirez?"

The policewoman stopped and turned to face Dean, she knelt down and placed both hands on the boy's shoulders.

"The ambulance came in time, right? Bobby called for help."

Officer Ramirez sighed, her dark brown eyes moist, "Dean, I have to tell you, Karen passed away. She didn't even make it to the hospital."

The twelve-year old's mouth opened in shock.

"No. No!" he pulled away from the policewoman's grip, "That's not true! Karen can't be dead! We're a family!"

"Dean, I'm sorry-" the officer tried again but the boy interrupted her.

"She was going to have a baby! Sam and I were going to have a brother or sister!"

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart," the policewoman said and reached out, pulling the boy towards her, "I'm so sorry."

Dean started to cry, great gasping sobs and leaned heavily against the woman, "It's not fair, it's not."

The twelve-year old grabbed the policewoman's uniform and clung to her, sobbing.

"Bobby…" Dean breathed, "Is he okay?"

"He's all right, Dean, but he's at the police station," Officer Ramirez told the boy.

"They think he killed her," the twelve-year old said and the policewoman pulled back, peering into the child's face but said nothing.

"Let's… Let's go get you something to eat," Officer Ramirez said and stood, taking Dean's hand.

"What's gonna happen to us?" he asked as they started towards the cafeteria.

"I don't know," Officer Ramirez told him, "I guess your case worker will have to figure that out."

"Mr. Kinley?" Dean asked and the policewoman nodded.

"I don't want to go anywhere else," the boy muttered, "I want to stay here."

W

Dean stared at the CPS agent from his seat beside his brother's bed, hating the man although he was just doing his job.

Sam was awake, had been for a few hours, and silent. Dean had told him what had happened to Karen and to Bobby and now both boys were finding out what was going to happen to them.

"You'll be placed in a foster home," Mr. Kinley said, glancing at Officer Ramirez sitting nearby, "We'll try to find one here in South Dakota but you may end up back in Kansas."

"Why can't we stay with Grandma?" Sam squeaked out, speaking for the first time since he'd woken up.

Mr. Kinley frowned, "Mrs. Lewis, although she is Mrs. Singer's mother, is getting on in years and it wouldn't be fair to her to place two young boys with her."

Sam sniffed and closed his eyes, turning his head to the side.

"When?" Dean asked.

"Once Samuel is well enough to travel," the CPS agent told them.

"Sam," Dean corrected instantly, "its Sam. Not Samuel."

Mr. Kinley cleared his throat.

"For now all we can do is wait until Dr. Rea releases your brother. I'll be back later on to let you know what is happening."

Dean said nothing. All he could do was think about how wrong all of this was. Bobby hadn't killed Karen; it had been that strange smoke inside her, just as she hadn't been trying to kill Sammy. But of course, he wasn't about to tell Mr. Kinley or even Officer Ramirez that, at best they'd just think it was the shock of what had happened that had made him see things, at worst, they'd think he was crazy.

Sighing, the older Winchester reached out and ran a hand through his brother's hair comfortingly.

"It'll be okay, Sammy," Dean murmured, "Whatever happens. It will all turn out okay in the end. I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from an Idina Menzel song of the same name.   
> I really have no clue how the police or CPS would handle such situations as the one Sam and Dean are experiencing at the end of the chapter and so it is a work of my imagination and I apologize if I made any glaring errors.  
> Please leave a comment or kudos!


	18. You Can't Go Home Again

Sam couldn't move. It was as though he was glued to the spot, paralyzed. He tried to run away but his limbs refused to respond.

His eyes were squeezed shut. It was too bright. The light seared at his eyeballs and caused tears to drip down his face.

"Sammy," a sibilant voice hissed in his ear and the boy jerked away from the sound, whimpering.

"Please don't hurt me," he begged; it seemed that the only thing that he could control was his mouth.

"That's because I want to hear you scream," the voice told him as though reading his mind and Sam gave a choked sob.

"Dean!" he cried out, terrified.

"Open your eyes, Sammy," the voice said, "Big brother's right here with us."

"No," the eight-year old refused.

"C'mon Squirt," his brother's voice spoke up, "Open your eyes."

"Dean," Sam breathed and slowly peeled his eyelids apart.

As he opened his eyes, the boy noticed that the bright light seemed to fade and he realized he was somewhere familiar: the Singers' kitchen. He was pinned against the wall, looking down at his brother and Karen and Bobby.

They all were grinning from ear-to-ear, coal-black eyes sunk into pale faces, sharp teeth slick with saliva.

"NO!" Sam screamed in terror.

W

"Sam! Sammy! Wake up!" Dean cried as his brother thrashed on the hospital bed, crying in his sleep.

"Sammy! Sam! It's okay! It's just a nightmare!"

The twelve-year old reached out and cradled his sibling's head, trying to protect his brother as he writhed in the blankets.

"Shhhh," Dean murmured, lifting one hand to stroke his brother's bangs away from his face, "Shhh it's okay."

"D'n," the eight-year old mumbled and Dean could see his brother quickly regaining consciousness.

Green eyes slid open and focused on his face.

"You're okay, Sammy," Dean assured him, "You're safe."

"D'n," Sam repeated and rolled to one side, reaching out to grab onto his brother, tears leaking from his eyes.

Dean held onto his younger brother, rocking back and forth, trying to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat.

The twelve-year old squeezed his eyes shut, wishing what he was saying was true… because right now nothing felt okay and safe. He didn't know what they would do if they were sent to some foster home, away from the only real family they had ever had. Dean wasn't sure and he knew for certain that Sam couldn't go through foster home after foster home after foster home again.

Dean looked up, startled, when the door opened and a stranger walked in. The stranger was a tall black man with greying hair and a moustache. He was wearing a long, tan trench coat. He looked at Officer Ramirez, who had stayed by Dean side- and Sam's- since leaving Bobby and Karen's house and pulled out an official looking badge, "Agent Marlborough, FBI. Why don't you get yourself a coffee, Officer, while I talk to these boys?"

The policewoman sat up in her chair, mouth open to protest.

"It's okay, Officer Ramirez," Dean told her, "We'll be fine. He's FBI, right?"

The policewoman nodded, "Five minutes and I'll be right back, Dean."

"Five minutes," the boy repeated and watched as she left the room, leaving the door ajar.

Sam sat up and rubbed at his eyes. Dean glanced at his brother and then to the agent.

Agent Marlborough looked at the younger Winchester and kept a steady gaze, not staring like some adults did and not glancing away either.

"I know your Pops didn't kill his wife," the FBI agent said, "But I need you two to tell me what happened so I can help him out."

"Did Bobby tell you what happened?" Dean asked, leaning forward.

Marlborough shook his head, "He doesn't remember much, just driving down the street then the next thing he knows is his lady's laying on the floor bleedin' and you two are on the floor unconscious."

"It wasn't Karen," Dean said, "It wasn't her, not really."

"How do you know? Did you see anything strange? Flickering lights? Or odd smells, like rotten eggs?" the agent asked.

"Remember, the lights went off and on," Sam said quietly.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "Just before we went into the kitchen, the lights in the living room flicked off and then back on. It only happened once… we thought the weather caused it."

Marlborough nodded, not looking surprised.

"And her eyes," Sam whispered, "Karen's eyes… they were all black… like she didn't have any eyes."

Dean reached out and put a comforting arm around his younger brother's shoulders.

"Black eyes," the man said slowly, as though to himself.

"Karen… or whatever it was…" Dean began, "Threw us into the wall without touching us. We couldn't move. We were stuck there and then she started hurting Sammy."

Marlborough looked at the older Winchester, "Is there anything else I should know? Anything else you two can remember about the attack?"

"Are you gonna help Bobby?" Sam asked.

"I'm gonna help him not go to jail for murder but anything else is beyond me," Marlborough told him.

Dean told him about seeing the plumes of smoke escaping from Bobby and Karen's mouths, "I think that's…" Dean started and then his eyes widened, "Oh wait! Bobby's eyes went a weird colour too!"

"Were they black or maybe red?" the FBI agent asked.

Dean shook his head, "No, they were… yellow."

The man frowned, "Yellow? You're sure?"

"I'm sure," the twelve-year old said, "He looked right at me."

"What were they, Sir?" Sam asked, "What was inside them?"

"Demons," Marlborough revealed, straight-faced.

"Demons?" Dean asked with one eyebrow raised, even though he had seen them for himself.

"Evil sons of bitches from Hell," the man continued, "They don't have bodies of their own so they squeeze into unsuspecting folks and mess around with them, commit all sorts of horrible crimes for their own sick amusement."

"You're not really an FBI agent, are you?" the older Winchester asked and the man almost smiled.

"No, I'm not," Marlborough- if that was his real name- admitted, "I'm the guy who hunts down the kinds of things you saw in your kitchen yesterday afternoon."

The brothers stared at him, not knowing what to say.

Six pairs of eyes turned as the door opened and Officer Ramirez stepped inside, holding a drink tray.

"I thought you boys might be thirsty," she said, "If you're finished talking with them, that is?"

Marlborough nodded and stood, "I think I have all the information I need here. Thank you, Officer."

"Will we see you again?" Dean asked the man.

The fake FBI agent smiled, "If I do my job right, you won't."

Dean leaned back in his chair as the man walked out.

"What was that about?" the policewoman asked.

"He just wanted to ask us about what happened to Karen," Sam replied.

Ramirez nodded, thin lipped.

"I brought you both some hot chocolate," she told them and the boys thanked her, taking the offered beverages.

SPN

Rufus Turner sighed heavily as he climbed into the driver's seat of his car and started the engine.

This whole damn situation was a mess. It pissed him off to no end that the demons had escaped and now an innocent man had been set up for the murder of his wife.

And the kids… Rufus didn't even like kids but he felt bad for those two boys. If nothing was done, their adoptive father was going to be locked away and they were destined for some foster home in a different state.

Despite being crass and self-centered, the hunter was not about to let the demons win at whatever game they were playing; he'd try his damndest to help these people out. That was a part of his job, even if it was the part he didn't really like, it had to be done and if it was to be done at all it had to be done well.

After five minutes of driving, Rufus turned into the parking lot of the Sioux Falls Police Station, feeling a sense of déjà vu since he'd already been there earlier that morning trying to get the story from Mr. Singer.

Peeling off his trench coat, the hunter reached into the backseat and pulled on a slate-grey suit jacket before opening the door and stepping outside.

Shrugging his shoulders to settle the jacket into place, Rufus put on his game face before opening the doors to the station and stepping inside.

Letting the door slam shut behind him, Rufus walked to the reception desk.

"I'm here to see Robert Singer," he told the young, fresh-out-of-college cop sitting behind the computer, "I'm his lawyer."

"Sheriff Yates and Deputy Mills are with him right now," the young cop told him.

"I didn't ask who he was with," Rufus interrupted, "I asked to see my client. They should already know me anyway, I was here this morning."

The cop nodded and picked up the phone, speaking into the receiver quietly. After a moment he put the phone back down and returned his attention to Rufus.

"Deputy Mills is going to come and get you," he told the hunter.

A door off to the side of the reception area opened and a young cop- though not as young as the kid behind the desk- with long dark brown hair and a stern expression emerged.

"Mr. Walker," Deputy Mills said, "We weren't expecting you back today."

"I have nothing better to do today," Rufus commented, "And I hope that when this young officer here says that you and the Sheriff were speaking with my client you weren't questioning him without me being there."

Deputy Mills crossed her arms over her chest and struck an intimidating pose.

"Because you know," Rufus continued, "Anything said without legal council present will be inadmissible in court."

"I'm aware of the laws, Mr. Walker," the deputy replied, "C'mon back, then, if you're so concerned for Mr. Singer's legal rights."

Rufus followed the deputy down a long, drab hallway to where the cells were.

"Can you open an interview room for us?" the hunter asked, "I'd like to speak with my client in private."

The deputy nodded as she showed Rufus to the cell where Bobby was being held even though he already knew where the man was. Sheriff Yates was standing outside of the cell, an irritated expression on his large, doughy face.

"Mr. Walker," the Sheriff said, "Back again."

Rufus ignored him; "I'd like to speak with my client, now. Your deputy is setting up a room for us."

The overweight sheriff rolled his eyes; clearly unable to see the reason for having another conversation with the prisoner since he thought Bobby was guilty as sin.

"Hey, its your party," Yates said to Rufus, "Don't know how much you'll get out of him. Maybe you can get him off on not guilty by reason of insanity."

"Hmm," the hunter hummed noncommittally, "Could you just open the door?"

Shaking his head, the sheriff did as Rufus asked and pulled out a ring of keys, picked one and unlocked the door to Bobby's cell.

The mechanic couldn't look more pathetic if he tried. He had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, his face was pale and drawn, his shoulders sagging as though under a great weight.

Rufus reached out and put a hand on the man's shoulder as they walked out of the room and headed down the hallway towards the interview rooms, Sheriff Yates close on their heels.

Rufus curtly thanked Deputy Mills as she held the door open for Bobby and him.

"I'll be waiting outside," she told him and the hunter nodded.

Sitting down at either side of the stainless-steel table in the bare, cinderblock walled room; the two men eyed each other for a moment before beginning to speak.

"I spoke to Dean and Sam," Rufus told Bobby, "And they gave me some interesting information about what happened yesterday afternoon."

"Are they all right?" the mechanic asked, concern for the boys showing his face.

"Shaken up," the hunter said, "Obviously. But it looks like they'll both be okay."

Bobby sighed, "That's good."

Rufus leaned forward across the table, "I know you don't remember what happened that afternoon but those boys did and I'm going to tell you exactly what they told me. It'll help us figure out how to get you out of here."

Bobby looked at the fake lawyer cynically.

"Oh yeah?" he commented, "And what could those boys possible remember that would get me off murder charges?"

Rufus wasted no more time and told the mechanic what Dean had seen and experienced that afternoon.

"Demons?" the man sat back, "But… that sort of thing's not possible. Is it?"

"Unless both boys were hallucinating," Rufus replied, "Which I know for a fact they were not because I've seen more than my fill of these things."

"Why us? Why Karen?" Bobby asked, his eyes visibly moist.

The hunter shrugged, "Because your wife and boys were home? Because they could? Demons mess with humans for their own entertainment, for shits and giggles. They don't have to have a reason other than to make our lives miserable."

"How is this gonna help me?" Bobby wanted to know, "I don't think the Sherriff you believe it if we told them demons possessed me and my wife."

Rufus shook his head, "You're right. He won't believe that. But with Dean, seeing what he did- and having his brother bearing the injuries to prove it- I think we can make a strong case for self-defense."

Bobby leaned forward, eyebrows knit together but eyes full of curiosity.

"Tell me."

"The only way I can see this working," Rufus began, "And getting you to walk, is if we lie. Make up a story supported by both you and the boy."

"Now, Dean said that the demon pinned him and his brother against the wall and then started to kill Sam," Rufus continued.

Bobby nodded, swallowing thickly.

"And the little one has the injuries to prove it. Now, what you tell the Sheriff, is that you came home for lunch, like you'd planned and heard Dean calling out for you. You run into the kitchen and find both boys tied up- hence them being unable to move- and Karen beating on the younger one with some sort of blunt object- rolling pin, whatever- and when she wouldn't stop you pulled out your gun and shot her to protect the children."

Bobby sat back in his chair, mouth open in shock.

"No, I can't," he argued, "Karen would never do something like that; she just wouldn't."

"Who cares what she would or wouldn't do?" Rufus snapped, "Upholding your wife's honour isn't going to help you much when you're rotting in jail for twenty-five to life, Bobby!"

The mechanic closed his eyes and ran a hand through his reddish hair.

"Sam was in a bad way," Rufus told him, "His face was purple, blood was dripping from his mouth. You thought he was dead. You didn't have any choice. Karen might have turned on Dean or hell, even on you, so you shot her."

Bobby shook his head, his breathing shallow.

"Who cares what these cornpoke cops think?" Rufus demanded, "Let them think your wife snapped! You'll know the truth and those boys will know the truth and that's a hell of a lot."

"If you go to jail, those boys will end up back where they started," the hunter said, his tone softening, "Back in some orphanage or in foster care."

"Can I think on it?" Bobby asked.

"Think quickly, Mr. Singer," Rufus crossed his arms, "You don't exactly have the luxury of time."

SPN

Dean and Sam looked at one another, then at the adults assembled in the room. The Sheriff and Deputy, Officer Ramirez, Mr. Kinley, were all waiting on the boys' side of the story.

Just hours before, Rufus had visited the boys one last time and helped them figure out what to say so that their story matched Bobby's tale of abuse and self-defense. Neither Winchester liked the idea of painting Karen as a crazy woman who just snapped and hurt them- they had already been through enough difficult foster homes that talking about another one, even though it wasn't true, made them anxious- but if it would help their adoptive father get out of jail, then they would do it.

"We came in from playing in the snow," Dean began, "And Karen told us we could watch a movie."

"It was 'The Goonies'," Sam added, "And Karen went to the kitchen to make hot chocolate."

"I put the movie in," the twelve-year old continued, "Then Karen called us into the kitchen."

"What happened when you went into the kitchen?" Sheriff Yates asked.

"Karen… she was just standing there," Dean said, "In the middle of the floor."

"Did you realize then that something wasn't right?" Yates asked.

Dean shrugged and looked at his brother, "Not really. It was a little weird but we weren't scared."

"We went up to her," Sam continued, "And Dean asked if she was okay."

"That's when she pushed me," the twelve-year old said, a lump in his throat, "I must have hit the wall pretty hard because I kind of blacked-out and when I woke up, Karen had Sammy…"

"It's all right," Deputy Mills said softly, "Take your time."

Dean took a deep breath, "She had him against the wall and she was hitting him."

"What was she using to hit your brother with?" the Sheriff asked.

"Karen was… she was punching him and shoving him into the wall," Dean continued.

"Is that when Mr. Singer came in?"

Dean shook his head, "Not yet. Karen dropped Sammy to the floor and started… started kicking him in the stomach… That's when I saw the blood…"

"Then Bobby came in," Sam spoke up but then looked at Dean, lowering his head.

"Bobby came in and saw Karen and told her to stop but she wouldn't so he took out his gun and said he'd shoot her if she didn't stop," Dean continued, "She didn't even care. So Bobby shot her."

"Had anything like this happened before?" Deputy Mills asked, "Did Mrs. Singer hit your or Sam or touch you inappropriately?"

Dean shook his head, "No Ma'am. She was always so nice to us."

"I never had the impression that these boys were unhappy or mistreated in the home," Mr. Kinley added.

The Sheriff nodded, "Thank you boys, for telling us what happened. It must have been hard for you."

"All right," Yates continued, "Let's head back to the station; we have a lot to discuss."

The Sheriff and Deputy stood up, followed by the CPS agent and left the room, leaving the brothers alone with Officer Ramirez.

Sam looked up at his brother, unsmiling, hoping that their testimony would be enough to release their father.

SPN

"No," Sam muttered in his sleep, "Please… no…"

Startling awake, the eight-year old sat up and blinked. It was dark in the room and the boy appeared to be alone.

"Dean?" Sam called, "Officer Ramirez?"

The boy jumped when a figure entered the room, then relaxed when he saw that it was a nurse. They were always coming in and out at odd times to check on him.

"Do you know where my brother went?" he asked the woman as she peered at the heart monitor, reached up to touch the bag of IV fluid for a moment.

"He went out to stretch his legs," the nurse told him.

Sam frowned; Dean went for a walk in the middle of the night.

The eight-year old opened his mouth to ask where his brother really was when the nurse's eyes sudden flashed yellow in the dark and he startled.

"You… You're…" he stammered fearfully. Although he hadn't actually seen Bobby's eyes glow yellow right before he'd shot Karen, Dean had told him about it.

"Shhh," the nurse- demon- reached out one finger and placed it against the boy's mouth, "Don't want to disturb the neighbours, do we?"

Sam, his eyes wide with fear, swallowed thickly and shook his head.

The nurse lowered her hand and smiled.

"You're one lucky horse," she said, "I like you. I really like you. That's why I couldn't let you die."

Sam stared at the woman mutely.

"But that was only a one-time deal," she- it- continued, "From now on, you're on your own. I bent the rules a little for you because there's just something about you I like. Call it zest, or spunk or whatever, but you've got it and the others don't."

Sam had no idea what the nurse, uh, demon, was talking about.

"So I couldn't let my favourite horse get tripped up so early in the game," the creature continued.

"You won't be seeing me again, kid. Not for a while at least, if you make it that far," the demon said, now moving back towards the door, "And I really hope you do."

The nurse reached up to put a hand on the doorframe, "Oh, and one more thing."

Sam nodded, his mouth as dry as cotton.

"Don't tell anyone I came by; let's just keep it a little secret between you and me, what do you say, eh Sammy?"

"Okay," the eight-year old croaked.

"That's my boy," the nurse winked and left the room.

Sam sat very still for a long time, trying to figure out if all that had just been a dream.

SPN

"Bobby!" Dean cried out as the mechanic stepped into the hospital room.

The twelve-year old jumped up and ran to the man, hugging him fiercely.

"You're out? For real?" the boy asked and the man nodded, "I'm out."

Walking across the room, Bobby leaned over Sam's bed and embraced the younger boy gently.

"Your doctor says you should be okay to leave today," the mechanic told Sam, "As long as you don't do vigorous activity."

Sam smiled slightly. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about that strange dream he'd had the night before, the one with the yellow-eyed nurse.

Bobby looked up at Officer Ramirez.

"Thanks for looking after my boys for me," he told her and she nodded before slipping out of the room, closing the door behind her.

"Can we go home now, Bobby?" Dean asked, "Please?"

The mechanic's smile faded and he sighed, sitting down on the edge of Sam's hospital bed.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, his heart skipping a beat.

"Those things- demons- that hurt your brother and killed Karen," Bobby said quietly, glancing from one boy to the other, "They're still out there."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "They are."

"Well," Bobby continued, "I can't let what happened to us happen to anyone else."

Dean's eyes widened with realization. He knew how his adoptive father was feeling because he'd felt the same way about Billy the Ghost. He'd had to burn that bastard to a crisp not only to protect his brother but other kids as well.

"I can't with a clear conscious let those things go," the mechanic said, "That man, Mr. Walker-"

"Agent Marlborough," Dean interrupted.

Bobby nodded before continuing, "He hunts those things and that's what I'm going to do to."

"Bobby!" Sam suddenly spoke up, "What about us? I don't want to go to another foster home!"

The man glanced down at the child, tears in his eyes.

"You don't have to go into a foster home," he said, "Not if you don't want to."

Sam squinted up at the mechanic, "Than what are we gonna do?"

"Those demons hurt you and killed Karen," Bobby repeated, "If you want you can come with me and get revenge."

"I will," Dean said instantly, "No one hurts my brother and gets away with it."

Sam turned to his brother, his green eyes moist, "What about me?"

"You'll come too, of course," the twelve-year old said, "I can't go anywhere without my baby brother."

Sam gave a wan smile.

SPN

Bobby Singer stood in the front foyer of the home he'd shared with his wife for many years. He breathed in deeply, savouring the familiar scents of the house, his heart aching at the thought of leaving it.

Perhaps it wasn't goodbye forever though. He would seek out those two demons and send them back to Hell where they belonged and then return to Sioux Falls to continue a life with his sons.

Reaching into his pocket, the mechanic pulled out a slip of paper with Mr. John Walker AKA Agent Marlborough AKA Rufus Turner's phone number on it and smiled.

Soon Karen, Bobby thought, soon you'll be avenged.

Stomping sounds alerted the man to the fact that his sons were coming down, each one carrying a piece of luggage and a backpack stuffed with clothes and toiletries.

"We didn't know how long we'd be gone so we packed everything," Dean explained and Bobby nodded.

"Be prepared," the man said, "Isn't that the Boy Scout motto?"

The twelve-year old shrugged.

"You okay, Sammy?" he asked his brother and the smaller boy nodded.

The three marched out the door- the eldest pausing to lock it- and then down the steps to the pickup truck, dumping their luggage into the back.

"Think of it as an adventure, Squirt," Dean said as he climbed into the pickup after his brother, squeezing onto the bench seat beside him.

Sam shook his head and sighed.

"It'll be all right, Sam," the twelve-year old assured him.

"Than why do I have a bad feeling, Dean?" the eight-year old muttered as their adoptive father climbed in behind the driver's seat and started the engine.

"Why do I feel like nothing is going to be all right again?"

The twelve-year old frowned and wrapped an arm around the younger boy's shoulders.

"Bobby and me aren't gonna let anything bad happen to you, okay?" Dean said sternly, "And nothing bad is going to happen to either of us either."

"Promise?" Sam asked and Dean smiled.

"Promise."

Bobby glanced at the boys quickly before returning his attention back to the road, "I promise."

Sam gave a weak smile and leaned back against the seat.

Dean reached out and turned on the radio, making a face when Joni Mitchell came on, singing 'Big Yellow Taxi', before turning the station and grinning as Journey's 'Don't Stop Believin' began to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Rita MacNeil song of the same name.  
> All good things must come to an end, folks, and this is the end of the story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I know it may not be satisfying to some of you and I apologize but in reality, not all endings are wrapped up nicely. Please take a moment to leave a comment or kudos but I'd appreciate no flames. Thank you for your support and I will see you next story!

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfic title comes from a Barenaked Ladies song.  
> Chapter title comes from a Kansas song.


End file.
